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1 

17625-S 

THE  NEIGHBOURS 


STORY  OF   EVERY-DAY  LIFE 


FREDERIKA  BREMER 


TRANSLATED  BY 


MARY  HOWITT 


LONDON 
GEORGE  BELL  &  SONS 
1901 


REMOTE  STORAGE 


IReprinted  from  Stereotype  plates.^ 


PREFACE  BY  THE  TRANSLATOR. 


Op  the  rich  treasure  of  intellect  and  literature  in 
Sweden,  little  or  nothing  is  known  in  England.  To 
give  a  specimen  of  what  exists  there,  even  in  the  de- 
partment of  living  story  and  scenes  of  society,  I  have 
selected  this  work  of  Frederika  Bremer,  which  is  one  of 
a  series.  *'  The  Neighbours"  has  not  been  first  chosen 
on  the  principle  of  presenting  the  best  first  in  order  to 
excite  expectation,  but  as  believing  it  a  fair  and  average 
example.  Some  of  the  others  possess  unquestionably  a 
stronger  interest  in  the  narrative,  and  perhaps  more  mas- 
terly exposition  of  character.  They  are,  m  my  opinion, 
mgst  admirable  in  their  lessons  of  social  wisdom ;  in  their 
life  of  relation;  in  their  playful  humour;  and  in  all  those 
qualities  which  can  make  writings  acceptable  to  the  fire- 
side circle  of  the  good  and  refined.  Frederika  Bremer 
is,  indeed,  the  Miss  Austin  of  Sweden.  Her  father 
was  an  eminent  merchant,  and  since  the  death  of  her 
parents  she  has  resided  alternately  at  Stockholm  and 

a2 


141004 


PEEPACK. 


with  a  female  friend  in  the  south  of  Sweden.  She  has 
consequently  seen  much  of  the  society  and  scenery  of 
her  nativt?  land,  and  no  one  can  sketch  these  with  more 
graphic  tiuth  and  vivacity.  Since  the  writings  of  their 
great  poet  Tegner,  no  productions  have  created  such  a 
sensation  in  Sweden ;  and  abroad  they  have  flown  far 
and  wide ;  have  been  read  with  avidity  in  various  parts 
of  the  Continent,  and  in  Germany  alone  three  editions 
have  appeared  in  rapid  succession. 

I  take  this  opportunity  to  announce  that  if  my  own 
countrymen,  and  especially  countrywomen,  give  this  work 
an  equal  welcome,  the  others  are  ready  for  publication, 
and  will  be  issued  as  speedily  as  may  be  required.  In 
any  case,  I  shall  be  grateful  to  the  Author  for  the  perusal 
of  them,  for  they  have  certainly  both  highly  amused  me 
and  done  my  heart  good, 

M  H. 

1852, 


THE  NEIGHBOURS. 


CHAPTEE  I. 

tBAl^SISKA.  WERNEB  TO  MARIA  M  

Rosenvick,  1st  June,  18— 

Here  I  am  now,  dear  Maria,  in  my  own  house  and  home, 
at  my  own  writing-table,  and  sitting  by  my  own  Bear.  And 
who  is  Bear  ?  you  probably  ask :  who  should  it  be  but  my 
own  husband,  whom  I  call  Bear  because  the  name  suits  him 
so  well. 

Here  then  I  am,  sitting  by  the  window  ;  the  sun  is  set- 
ting; two  swans  swim  on  the  lake,  and  furrow  its  clear 
mirror ;  three  cows,  my  cows,  stand  on  the  green  shore  quite 
sleek  and  reflective,  thinking  certainly  upon  nothing.  How 
handsome  they  are !  Now  comes  the  maid  with  her  stool 
and  milk-pail ;  how  rich  and  good  is  country  milk !  but  what, 
in  fact,  is  not  good  in  the  country  ?  air  and  men,  food  and 
feeling,  heaven  and  earth,  all  is  fresh  and  animated. 

But  now  I  must  conduct  you  into  my  dwelling — no,  I  will 
begin  yet  further  off.  There,  on  that  hill,  in  Smaland,  several 
miles  off,  whence  I  first  looked  into  the  valley  where  Eosen- 
vik  lies,  behold  a  dust-covered  carriage,  within  which  sits  the 
Bear  and  his  wife.  That  wife  looks  forth  with  curiosity,  for 
before  her  lies  a  valley  beautiful  in  the  light  of  evening. 
Green  woods  stretch  out  below,  and  surround  crystal  lakes ; 
corn-fields  in  silken  waves  encircle  grey  mountains ;  and 
white  buildings  gleam  out  with  friendly  aspects  among  the 
trees.  Here  and  there,  from  the  wood-covered  heights,  pillarq 
of  smoke  ascend  to  the  clear  evening  heaven ;  they  might 
have  been  mistaken  for  volcanoes,  but  they  were  only  peaceful 


6 


THE  NEIGHBOURS. 


svedjor.*  Truly  it  was  beautiful,  and  I  was  charmed  ;  1 
bent  myself  forward,  and  was  thinking  on  a  certain  happy 
natural  family  in  Paradise,  one  Adam  and  Eve,  when  suddenly 
the  Bear  laid  his  great  paws  upon  me,  and  held  me  so  tight 
that  I  was  nearly  giving  up  the  ghost,  while  he  kissed  me 
and  besought  me  to  find  pleasure  in  what  was  here.  I  was 
the  least  in  the  world  angry,  but  as  I  knew  the  heart-impulse 
of  this  embrace,  I  made  myself  tolerably  contented. 

Here  then,  in  this  valley,  lay  my  stationary  home,  here 
lived  my  new  family,  here  lay  Eosenvik,  here  should  I  live 
with  my  Bear.  We  descended  the  hill,  and  the  carriage 
rolled  rapidly  along  the  level  road,  while  as  we  advanced  he 
told  whose  property  was  this  and  w^hose  was  that,  whether 
near  or  remote.  All  was  to  me  like  a  dream,  out  of  which  I 
was  suddenly  awoke  by  his  saying  with  a  peculiar  accent, 
"  Here  lives  Ma  chere  mere and  at  the  same  moment  the 
carriage  drove  into  a  court-yard,  and  drew  up  at  the  door 
of  a  large,  handsome,  stone  house. 

"  What,  must  we  alight  here  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Yes,  my  love,"  was  his  reply. 

This  was  to  me  by  no  means  an  agreeable  surprise;  I 
would  much  rather  have  gone  on  to  my  own  house ;  much 
rather  have  made  some  preparation  for  this  first  meeting 
with  my  husband's  step-mother,  of  whom  I  stood  in  great 
awe  from  the  anecdotes  I  had  heard  of  her,  and  the  respect 
which  I  saw  that  Bear  had  for  her.  This  visit  seemed  to 
me  quite  mal-a-propos,  but  Bear  had  his  own  ideas,  and  as  I 
glanced  at  him  I  saw  that  it  was  no  time  for  opposition. 

It  was  Sunday,  and  as  the  carriage  drew  up  I  heard  the 
sound  of  a  violin. 

"  Aha,"  said  Bear,  "so  much  the  better!"  leaped  heavily 
from  the  carriage,  and  helped  me  out  also.  There  was  no 
time  to  think  about  boxes  or  packages  ;  he  took  my  hand  and 
led  me  up  the  steps,  along  the  entrance  hall,  and  drew  me 
towards  the  door,  whence  proceeded  the  sounds  of  music  and 
dancing. 

"  Only  see,"  thought  I,  "  now  I  shall  probably  have  even 
to  dance  in  this  costume." 

Oh,  if  I  could  only  have  gone  in  somewhere,  just  to  wipe 

•  Svedjor,  the  burning  of  turf  in  the  fields,  which  in  many  parts  of  Sweden  is 
ttsed  for  dressing  the  land. 


rBA^SISKA  WERNEE  TO  MARIA  M. 


7 


the  dust  from  my  face  and  my  bonnet,  where  at  the  very 
least  I  could  just  have  seen  myself  in  a  looking-glass !  But 
impossible !  Bear  led  me  by  the  arm,  insisting  that  I  looked 
most  charmingly,  and  beseeching  me  to  make  a  looking-glass 
of  his  eyes.  I  was  obliged  to  be  so  very  uncourteous  as  to 
reply  that  they  were  quite  too  small  for  that  purpose ;  on 
which  account  he  declared  they  were  only  the  brighter,  and 
then  opened  the  door  of  the  ball-room, 

"  Now,"  exclaimed  I,  in  a  kind  of  lively  despair,  "  if  you 
take  me  to  a  ball,  you  Bear,  I'll  make  you  dance  with  me." 

"  With  a  world  of  pleasure!"  cried  he;  and  in  the  same 
moment  we  two  stood  in  the  hall,  when  my  terror  was  con- 
siderably abated  by  finding  that  the  great  room  contained 
merely  a  number  of  cleanly  dressed  servants,  men  and 
women,  who  leapt  about  lustily  with  one  another,  and  who 
were  so  occupied  with  their  dancing  as  scarcely  to  perceive 
us.  Bear  led  me  to  the  upper  end  of  the  room,  and  there  I 
saw  sitting  upon  a  high  seat  a  very  tall  and  strong-built 
gentlewoman,  apparently  fifty  years  of  age,  who  was  playing 
with  remarkable  fervour  upon  a  large  violin,  and  beating  time 
to  her  music  with  great  power.  Upon  her  head  was  a  tall 
ind  extraordinary  cap  of  black  velvet,  which  I  may  as  well 
call  a  helmet,  because  this  idea  came  into  my  head  at  the  first 
glance,  and  after  all  I  can  find  no  better  name  for  it.  She 
looked  handsome  but  singular.  This  was  the  Generalska 
(wife  of  the  Greneral)  Mansfelt,  this  was  the  step-mother  of 
my  husband,  this  was  Ma  chere  mere  ! 

She  turned  instantly  her  large  dark-brown  eyes  upon  us, 
ceased  playing,  laid  down  her  violin,  and  arose  \\  ith  a  proud 
bearing,  but  with,  at  the  same  time,  a  happy  and  open 
countenance.  Bear  led  me  forward;  I  trembled  a  little, 
made  a  deep  curtsey,  and  kissed  her  hand;  in  return  she 
kissed  my  forehead,  and  for  a  moment  looked  on  me  so 
keenly  as  compelled  me  to  cast  down  my  eyes,  whereupon 
she  kissed  me  most  cordially  on  mouth  and  forehead,  and  em- 
braced me  as  warndy  as  her  step-son.  And  now  came  his  turn ; 
he  kissed  her  hand  most  reverentially,  but  she  presented  her 
cheek ;  they  regarded  each  other  with  the  moist  friendly  ex- 
pression of  countenance,  she  saying  in  a  loud  manly  voice  the 
moment  afterwards :  "  You  are  welcome,  my  dear  friends ;  it 
ia  very  handsome  of  you  to  come  here  to  me  before  you  have 


8 


THE  NElOMBOtJES. 


been  to  your  own  liouse  ;  I  thank  you  for  it.  I  might,  it  in 
true,  have  received  you  better,  if  I  could  have  made  prepara- 
tions;  but  at  all  events,  this  I  know,  that  *  a  welcome  is  the 
best  dish.'  I  hope,  my  friends,  that  you  will  remain  till 
evening  with  me." 

Bear  excused  us,  saying  that  he  wished  to  reach  home 
soon ;  that  I  was  fatigued  with  the  journey :  but  that  we 
could  not  pass  Carlsfors  without  paying  our  respects  to  Ma 
chere  mere. 

"Nay,  good,  good!"  said  she,  apparently  satisfied,  "we 
will  soon  have  more  talk  within,  but  first  I  must  speak  a  few 
words  with  these  people  here.  Listen,  good  friends !"  and 
Ma  chere  mere  struck  the  back  of  the  violin  with  the  bow  till 
general  silence  prevailed  through  the  hall.  "  My  children," 
continued  she,  in  a  solemn  tone,  "  I  have  something  to  say  to 
you, — zounds !  wilt  thou  not  be  quiet  there  below, — I  have 
to  tell  you  that  my  beloved  son  Lars  Anders  Werner  takes 
home  his  wife,  this  Fransiska  Buren  whom  you  see  standing 
by  his  side.  Marriages  are  determined  in  heaven,  my  children, 
and  we  will  now  pray  heaven  to  bless  its  work  in  the  persons 
of  this  couple.  This  evening  we  will  drink  together  a  skal* 
to  their  well-being.  So  now  you  can  dance,  my  children  ! 
Olof,  come  here,  take  the  violin  and  play  thy  very  best." 

While  a  murmur  of  exultation  and  good  wishes  ran  through 
the  assembly.  Ma  chere  mere  took  me  by  the  hand  and  led 
me,  together  with  Bear,  into  another  room,  into  which  she 
ordered  punch  and  glasses  to  be  brought ;  then  placing  both 
her  elbows  firmly  upon  the  table  and  supporting  her  chin  on 
her  closed  fists,  she  looked  at  me  with  a  gaze  which  was 
rather  dark  than  friendly.  Bear,  who  saw  that  this  review 
was  rather  embarrassing  to  me,  began  to  speak  of  the  harvest, 
and  other  country  afiairs  ;  Ma  chere  mere,  however,  sighed 
several  times  so  deeply,  that  her  sighs  rather  resembled 
groans,  and  then,  as  it  were  constraining  herself,  answered  to 
his  observations,  and  then  as  the  punch  came  in  she  drank  to 
us,  and  said,  with  earnestness  in  tone  and  countenance, 
"  Son,  and  son's  wife,  your  health  !" 

After  this  she  became  more  friendly,  and  said  in  a  jesting 
tone,  which  suited  her  extremely  well,  "  Lars  Anders,  I  don't 

•  Dricka  Skal ;  to  drink  a  health.  Skal  is  pronounced  skole,  exactly  w\th  the 
laQie  sound  as  sole,  pole,  etc. 


rUAXSISKA  WERi^ER  TO  iHAEIA  M. 


9 


think  tliat  any  one  can  say  *  that  you  have  bought  the  pig  in 
the  poke.'  Tour  w  ife  does  not  look  amiss,  and  she  *  has  a 
pair  of  eyes  to  buy  fish  with.'  She  is  little,  very  little,  one 
must  confess,  but '  little  and  bold  often  push  the  great  ones 
into  the  hold.'  '* 

I  laughed,  Ma  chere  mere  did  the  same,  and  I  began  to 
feel  myself  quite  at  home  with  her.  We  talked  for  some  time 
very  merrily  together,  and  I  related  several  little  travelling 
adventures,  which  appeared  to  amuse  her.  In  an  hour's  time 
we  rose  to  take  our  leave,  and  Ma  chere  mere  said,  with  a 
most  friendly  smile,  "  However  agreeable  it  is  to  me  to  see 
you,  I  will  not  detain  you  this  evening.  I  can  very  well 
understand  how  the  '  at  home '  draws  you.  Eemain  at  home 
over  to-morrow,  if  you  will,  but  the  day  after  come  and  eat 
your  dinner  with  me  5  for  the  rest,  you  very  well  know  that 
you  will  at  all  times  be  welcome.  Now  fill  your  glasses,  and 
come  and  drink  to  the  people.  Trouble  man  may  keep  to 
himself,  but  pleasure  he  must  enjoy  in  company." 

We  followed  with  full  glasses  Ma  chere  mere,  who  had 
gone  as  herald  into  the  dancing-room  ;  they  were  all  standing 
as  we  entered,  and  she  spoke  something  after  this  manner : 
"  One  must  never  triumph  before  one  is  over  the  brook  ;  but 
if  people  sail  in  the  ship  of  matrimony  w^ith  prudence  and  in 
the  fear  of  God,  there  is  a  proverb  which  says,  '  Well  begun 
is  half  won,'  and  therefore,  my  friends,  we  will  drink  a  skal 
to  the  new-married  couple  whom  you  see  before  you,  and 
wish,  not  only  for  them,  but  for  those  who  come  after  them, 
that  they  may  for  ever  have  place  in  the  garden  of  the 
Lord!" 

"  Skal !  skal !"  resounded  on  all  sides.  Eear  and  I  emptied 
our  glasses,  and  then  went  round  and  shook  hands  with  so 
many  people  that  my  head  was  qnite  dizzy. 

All  this  over,  we  prepared  for  our  departure,  and  then 
came  Ma  chere  mere  to  me  on  the  steps  with  a  packet,  or 
rather  a  bundle  in  her  hand,  saying,  in  the  most  friendly 
manner,  "  Take  these  veal  cutlets  with  you,  children,  for 
breakfast  to-morrow  morning.  In  a  while  you  will  fatten 
and  eat  your  own  veal ;  but  daughter-in-law  don't  forget  one 
thing,  let  me  have  my  napkin  back  again !  Nay,  you  shall 
not  carry  it,  dear  child,  you  have  qnite  enough  to  do  with 
vour  bag  and  your  cloak.    Lars  Anders  "lust  carry  the  vea 


THE  NEIGHBOURS. 


cutlets  and  then,  as  if  he  were  a  little  boy  still,  she  gave  hira 
the  bundle  and  showed  him  how  he  must  carry  it,  all  which 
he  did  as  she  bade  him,  and  still  her  last  words  were  "  Don't 
forget  now,  that  I  have  my  napkin  back !" 

I  glanced  full  of  amazement  at  my  husband,  but  he  only 
smiled  and  helped  me  into  the  carriage.  After  all  I  was 
quite  satisfied  to  have  made  the  acquaintance  of  Ma  chere 
mere  in  so  impromptu  a  manner,  for  I  felt  that  if  it  had 
been  more  solemn  and  premeditated,  her  bearing  and  her 
scrutiny  would  perhaps  have  had  a  more  oppressive  effect 
upon  me. 

Right  glad  was  I  about  the  veal  cutlets,  for  I  could  not  tell 
in  what  state  I  might  find  the  provision-room  finances  at 
Eosenvik.  Right  glad  also  was  I  to  arrive  at  home,"  and 
to  see  a  maid-servant  and  a  ready-prepared  bed,  for  we  had 
travelled  that  day  sixty  English  miles,  and  I  was  greatly 
fatigued.  I  had  slept  a  little  on  the  mile  and  quarter  way 
between  Carlsfors  and  E-osenvik,  and  the  twilight  had  come 
on  so  rapidly  that,  as  about  eleven  o'clock  at  night  we  arrived 
at  home,  I  was  unable  to  see  what  my  Eden  resembled.  The 
house  seemed,  however,  to  me,  somewhat  grey  and  small  in 
comparison  of  the  one  we  had  just  left ;  but  that  was  of  no 
consequence.  Bear  was  so  cordially  kind,  and  I  was  so 
cordially  sleepy.  But  all  at  once  I  was  wide  awake,  for  as  I 
entered  it  seemed  to  me  like  a  fairy  tale.  I  stepped  into  a 
handsome  well-lighted  room,  in  the  middle  of  which  stood  a 
nicely  arranged  tea-table  glittering  with  silver  and  china, 
whilst  beside  the  tea-table  stood  the  very  neatest  of  maid- 
servants, in  that  pretty  holiday  dress  which  is  peculiar  to 
the  peasant  girls  of  this  country. 

I  uttered  an  exclamation  of  delight,  and  all  sleep  at  once 
was  gone.  In  a  quarter  of  an  hour  I  was  quite  ready,  and 
sat  down  as  hostess  at  the  tea-table,  admiring  the  beautiful 
tablecloth,  the  teacups,  the  teapot,  the  teaspoons,  upon  which 
were  engraved  our  joint  initials,  and  served  tea  to  my  Bear, 
who  seemed  happy  to  his  heart's  core. 

And  thus  the  morning  and  the  evening  were  the  first  day. 

The  next  morning,  as  I  opened  my  eyes,  I  saw  that  my 
Adam  was  already  wide  awake,  and  was  directing  his  eyes 
with  an  expression  of  great  devotion  towards  the  window 
where  a  ray  of  sunshine  streamed  in  through  a  hole  in  the 


FBANCISKA  WEliiSEll  TO  MARIA  M. 


11 


blue-strfped  window  curtains,  wliilat  at  the  same  time  the 
mewing  of  a  eat  might  be  heard. 

"  My  beloved  husband !"  began  I,  solemnly,  "  I  thank  you 
for  the  beautiful  music  which  you  have  prepared  for  my 
welcome.  I  conjecture  you  have  a  troop  of  country  girls 
all  dressed  in  white  to  scatter  twigs  of  fir  before  my  feet.  I 
will  soon  be  ready  to  receive  them." 

I  have  arranged  something  much  better  than  this  old- 
fashioned  pageantry,"  said  he,  merrily.  "  In  association 
with  a  great  artist,  I  have  prepared  a  panorama  which  will 
show  you  how  it  looks  in  Arabia  Deserta.  You  need  only 
to  lift  up  these  curtains." 

Tou  may  imagine,  Maria,  that  I  was  soon  at  the  window 
— with  a  sort  of  secret  dread  drew  aside  the  curtains.  Ah, 
Maria !  there  lay  before  me,  in  the  full  glory  of  the  morning, 
a  crystal  lake ;  green  meadows  and  groves  lay  around,  and 
in  the  middle  of  the  lake  a  small  island,  upon  which  grew  a 
magnificent  oak ;  over  all  the  sun  shone  brightly,  and  all 
was  so  peaceful,  so  paradisiacal  in  its  beauty,  that  I  was 
enchanted,  and  for  the  first  moment  could  not  speak,  I  could 
only  fold  my  hands  whilst  tears  filled  my  eyes. 

"  May  you  be  happy  here!"  whispered  Bear,  and  clasped 
me  to  his  heart. 

"  I  am  happy,  too  happy!"  said  I,  deeply  moved,  "  and 
grateful." 

"  Do  you  see  the  island,  that  little  Svan-o?"  asked  he. 
I  will  row  you  often  there  in  summer ;  we  will  take  our 
evening  meal  with  us,  and  eat  it  there." 

"  Why  not  breakfast  ?"  inquired  I,  suddenly  fired  with 
the  idea — "  why  not  to-day,  in  this  beautiful  morning,  go 
and  drink  our  cofiee  ?    I  will  immediately  " 

"  No,  not  this  morning,"  interrupted  he,  laughing  at  my 
earnestness;  "  I  must  be  off  to  the  town  to  visit  my  patient." 

"  Ah !"  exclaimed  I,  in  a  tone  of  vexation,  "  what  a  thing 
it  is  that  people  cannot  remain  in  health  1" 

"  What  then  should  I  do  ?"  asked  he,  in  a  sort  of  comic 
terror. 

"  Row  me  over  to  Svan-o,"  was  my  reply. 
"  I  shall  be  back,"  said  he,  "  for  dinner  about  three  o'clock, 
and  then  we  can — that  cursed  hole  there  above,"  said  he, 


12 


THE  jiTEIGitBOUBS. 


I  could  not  have  believed  that  the  curtains  had  beeil  gc 
tor  " 

"  That  hole  shall  remain  as  long  as  I  am  here,"  exclaimed 
I  with  enthusiasm,  interrupting  him  ;  "  never  would  I  forget 
that  through  that  hole  I  first  sa  w  sunshine  at  Rosenvik  ^ 
But  tell,"  inquired  I,  "  what  old  fortress  is  that  which  one 
sees  across  the  lake  there,  so  grey  in  the  distance  ?  TherCj 
where  the  wood  is  so  black !" 

That  is  E;amm,"  replied  he,  "  a  great  country-seat."  f 

"  And  who  lives  there  ?"  I  asked.  ** 

"Nobody,  at  this  moment,"  he  replied.  "Fifteen  yean 
ago  it  belonged  to  Ma  chere  mere,  but  she  did  not  find  her* 
self  comfortable  there,  so  she  removed  to  Carlsfors  and  sold 
Eamm.  The  estate  was  purchased  by  peasants,  who  now 
cultivate  the  land,  but  let  the  fine  house  and  park  fall  to 
decay.  People  say  that  at  present  it  is  rented  for  the  summer 
by  a  foreigner,  who  wishes  to  hunt  in  the  country  ;  and  a 
fine  opportunity  has  he  to  do  so  in  the  park  itself,  which  is 
above  six  English  miles  in  circuit,  and  in  which,  during  their 
long  undisturbed  rest,  game  of  all  kind  has  wonderfully  in- 
creased. Sometimes  we  will  go  and  look  about  there  ;  but 
now,  my  little  wife,  I  must  have  my  breakfast,  and  then  say 
farewell  to  thee  for  a  few  hours." 

When  coffee  was  ended,  and  he  seated  in  his  cabriolet,  I 
began  to  make  observations  on  my  own  little  world — but  of 
house  and  environs  I  will  speak  later,  and  first  say  something 
of  the  master  of  the  house  himself,  because  you,  Maria,  as 
yet  know  not  my  own  Bear. 

I  have  your  letter  before  me,  your  dear  letter,  which  I  re- 
ceived a  few  days  after  my  marriage.  Thanks,  beloved,  good 
Maria,  for  all  its  cordial  words — for  all  its  good  advice,  which 
is  well  preserved  where  it  will  never  be  forgotten ;  and  now 
to  your  questions,  which  I  will  endeavour  to  answer  fully. 
First  of  all  for  Bear — here  then  you  have  his  portrait.  Of 
a  middle  size,  but  proportionably,  not  disagreeably,  stout 
and  broad;  a  handsome,  well-curled  peruke,  made  by  the 
Creator's  own  hand ;  large  couleur  de  rose  ;  light  eyelashes ; 
small,  clear  grey  eyes,  with  a  certain  penetrating  glance^ 
under  large  bushy  yellow-grey  eyebrows;  the  nose  good, 
though  somewhat  thick ;  the  mouth  large,  with  good  teeth— 


rilA^fSlSK^  WJEKXEIi  TO  MARIA  M, 


13 


iiit  brown,  alas !  from  tobacco-smoking ;  large  hands,  but 
weD  made  and  well  kept ;  large  feet,  the  gait  like  a  bear : 
but  this  gives  no  idea  of  his  exterior,  if  you  do  not  take  into 
account  an  expression  of  open-hearted  goodness  and  cheerful* 
ness,  which  inspires  a  joyful  confidence  in  the  beholder. 
This  speaks  when  the  mouth  is  silent,  as  is  most  frequently 
the  case  ;  the  forehead  is  serene,  and  the  bearing  of  the  head 
such  as  reminds  one  of  an  astronomer ;  the  voice  is  a  deep 
bass,  which  is  not  at  all  amiss  in  singing.  Here  then  you 
have  his  exterior.  His  inward  self,  best  Maria,  I  have  not  yet 
myself  studied.  Betrothed  to  him  only  within  two  months, 
wife  since  fourteen  days,  I  have  not  had  great  opportunity  to 
become  acquainted  with  a  man  who  is  generally  silent,  and 
whom  I  have  not  known  more  than  half  a  year.  But  I  trust 
and  hope  all  for  good  1 

You  ask  whether  I  feel  love,  actual  love  for  him,  and  give, 
half  in  jest,  half  in  earnest,  extraordinary  signs  by  which  I 
may  be  able  to  prove  this.  Whether  I  am  sensible  of  an  in- 
supportable want  when  he  is  absent  P  whether  I,  like  Madam 
L.,  become  pale  and  embarrassed  when  he  enters  a  company 
in  which  I  am  already  ?  whether  he  has  any  fault,  any  bad 
habit  which  in  another  would  be  unpleasant  to  me,  but 
which  in  him  is  agreeable  !  No,  Maria,  of  all  this  I  experi- 
ence nothing :  but  understand,  dear  Maria,  I  can  very  well 
endure  him ;  I  certainly  liked  him,  and  found  him  an  excel- 
lent man,  otherwise  I  should  not  have  married  him;  but 
love — ^hm ! 

In  the  first  place,  he  is  much  older  than  I  am ;  he  is  nearly 
fifty,  and  I  want  yet  three  years  of  thirty ;  further,  he  has 
been  so  long  an  old  bachelor,  has  his  good  and  his  bad  habits, 
and  these  last  I  do  not  find  at  all  agreeable ;  but  they  shall 
not  destroy  our  domestic  happiness  ;  of  that  I  am  determined. 
Some  of  them  I  shall  accustom  myself  to,  some  of  them  1 
shall  wean  him  from.  For  example,  first,  he  has  a  habit  oi 
spitting  about  everywhere,  on  handsome  matting  just  the 
same  as  on  bare  boards, — ^that  habit  he  must  leave  off* ;  but 
I  will  have  spittoons  in  every  room.  Secondly,  he  smokes  a 
great  deal ;  to  this  I  shall  accustom  myself,  because  I  know 
how  necessary  and  dear  a  pipe  is  to  those  who  have  made  it 
for  long  the  companion  of  their  way  through  life ;  but  we 
wiU  have  a  contract  between  us,  thus ;  I  am  quite  willing  to 


THE  NEIGHBOUBS. 


Bee  the  lighted  pipe,  yet  it  shall  only  seldom  bo  introduced 
into  the  drawing-room,  and  never  into  our  bedroom.  Bear 
can  pulf  away  as  much  as  he  likes  in  his  own  room,  and  in 
the  hall,  where  the  fumes  pass  away  freely.  Thirdly,  he  has 
an  extraordinary  habit,  whilst  he  is  silent,  of  making  most 
horrible  faces,  often  to  his  own  thoughts,  and  often  during 
the  conversation  of  others ;  but  here  we  will  have  a  compro- 
mise,— sometimes  I  shall  say  to  him,  "  Bear,  don't  make 
such  horrible  faces  but  most  frequently  I  shall  let  him  grin 
in  peace,  because  I  know  how  painful  it  would  be,  how  truly 
impossible  for  him  to  counteract  this  working  of  the  features, 
which  sometimes  is  so  well  introduced ;  more  especially  as  it 
often  furnishes  a  mode  of  speech  which  is  very  expressive, 
and  appears  more  merry  than  disagreeable.  Fourthly,  he  has 
a  kind  of  carpenter  mania,  and  would  very  willingly  sit  of  an 
evening  and  chisel  and  glue,  and  in  so  doing  makes  a  litter 
over  tables,  chairs,  and  floor ;  to  this  I  will  accustom  myself 
with  my  whole  heart,  and  merely  every  morning  make  all 
carefully  clean  again.  It  always  gives  me  pleasure  when  a 
gentleman  has  some  little  favourite  handicraft ;  and  after 
Bear  has  been  occupying  himself  all  day  till  he  is  weary  with 
his  medical  profession,  this  is  a  cheerful  diversion  of  mind  to 
him.  Whilst  he  chisels  I  shall  read  novels  aloud  to  him, 
which  particularly  amuse  him.  Fifthly,  he  has  a  habit  of 
using  certain  coarse  words ;  this  I  will  patiently,  and  by  little 
and  Httle,  get  him  to  leave  off" ;  but  that  to  which  I  am  most 
fully  determined  above  all  things  to  accustom  him  is,  to  feel 
himself  happy,  and  to  find  contentment  and  pleasure  in  hi^ 
own  house ; — for,  Maria,  I  was  poor,  was  obliged  to  get  my 
bread  in  the  sweat  of  my  own  brow — for  teaching  music  is  no 
light  labour.  I  was  not  young  any  longer,  had  no  beauty, 
nor  talent  beyond  that  little  bit  of  music — and  he,  from  a 
family  of  consequence,  of  a  respectable  station  in  life,  and 
universally  esteemed  on  account  of  his  character,  knowledge, 
and  ability,  selected  me  from  among  many  richer,  handsomer, 
and  better  than  I.  He  attended  me  during  my  severe  fever 
with  the  utmost  kindness  ;  and  when  my  mother  would  have 
recompensed  his  trouble  with  the  remains  of  our  hoarded*up 
money,  he  put  it  aside,  and  requested — my  hand.  Then  he 
was  kind  to  all  who  belonged  to  me ;  gave  presents  to  my 
brothers,  and  through  him  prosperity  entered  into  out 


TEANSISKA  WEBJSEB  TO  MABIA  M. 


15 


formerly  needy  house.  Should  I  not  be  grateful?  sliould  1 
not  like  him  ?  should  I  not  endeavour  with  all  my  power, 
with  my  utmost  ability,  to  make  him  happy  ?  Ah,  yes  !  that 
will  I,  that  shall  I ;  with  his  virtues  and  his  defects,  in  jest 
and  in  earnest,  in  good  and  in  evil,  will  I  make  him  happy, 
and  a  voice  within  me  says  that  I  shall  succeed. 

Tuesday  Morning,  3rd  of  June. 

"We  poor  mortals !  What  are  all  our  good  intentions  when 
we  have  not  power  over  ourselves.  The  day  before  yesterday 
I  sate  and  boasted  with  myself  how  happy  I  would  make 
my  husband ;  yesterday — but  in  order  to  punish  myself,  I 
will  tell  you  all.  I  must  turn  back  to  the  evening  before 
yesterday,  when  I  was  so  satisfied  with  myself. 

Bear  was  on  a  visit  to  a  sick  person  in  the  neighbourhood, 
and  I  was  writing  ;  he  came  back,  and  I  put  aside  my  writing. 
I  talked  in  grave  raillery  to  him  ;  we  drew  up  various  do- 
mestic regulations,  and  half  in  jest,  half  in  earnest,  the  con- 
tract respecting  the  tobacco-smoking  was  made  and  signed. 
So  far  all  was  right,  and  so  ended  that  day.  The  next  day, 
that  was  yesterday,  we  were  to  dine  with  Ma  chere  mere 
I  had  a  little  headache ;  and  however  I  arranged  my  cap 
and  my  hair,  I  could  not  satisfy  myself ;  it  seemed  to  me  that 
I  looked  old  and  faded.  I  fancied  my  husband  thought  the 
same,  although  he  made  no  such  remark.  This  put  me  out 
of  spirits,  for  I  feared  I  should  not  please  Ma  chere  mere,  and 
I  knew  how  much  Bear  wished  that  I  should  do  so.  The 
weather,  too,  was  disagreeable,  and  I  had  the  greatest  desire 
to  stop  at  home,  but  when  I  gave  the  slightest  hint  of  that, 
he  made  such  terrible  grimaces  that  I  gave  up  all  attempts 
of  the  kind.  I  was  in  fact  more  reluctant  than  ill.  So  we 
mounted  the  cabriolet,  and  in  drizzling  rain  drove  off  under 
an  umbrella. 

Ma  chere  mere  received  us  kindly,  but  she  did  not  seem 
to  be  in  good  humour  herself.  There  were  several  old  ladies 
and  gentlemen  to  dine,  all  strangers  to  me ;  it  was  a  heavy 
affair ;  and  though  the  dinner  was  magnificent,  spite  of  all 
my  attempts  I  could  eat  nothing. 

In  the  afternoon,  immediately  after  coffee,  Bear  went  wit  a 
the  gentlemen  down  into  the  billiard-room,  leaving  me  with 
Ma  chere  mere,  the  old  ladies,  who  kept  talking  to  themselves, 


18 


THE  NEIGIIBOUBS. 


and  a  certain  Lagman*  Hok,  an  old  and  tried  friend  of  Ma 
ehere  mere,  who  sate  near  her  and  took  snuff.  Ma  chore 
mere  was  silent,  played  patience,  and  looked  grave.  I  said 
now  and  then  a  word,  but  every  moment  grew  stiller,  for  my 
head  ached  sadly ;  the  rain  beat  against  the  window,  and  to 
tell  the  truth  I  was  out  of  humour  with  Bear,  who  it  seemed 
to  me  might  have  come  for  a  short  time  during  that  long 
afternoon  to  look  after  his  little  wife,  and  not  have  gone 
thus  indulging  his  old  bachelor  habits  of  playing  billiards, 
drinking  and  smoking ;  and  in  this  ill-humour  the  afternoon 
wore  by. 

Towards  tea-time,  Ma  chere  mere  requested  me  to  play 
something ;  I  sate  down  to  the  piano,  made  a  prelude,  and 
began  to  sing  that  beautiful  little  thing,  "  Youth,"  but  the 
heat,  my  headache  and  my  chagrin  together  put  me  quite  out 
of  voice.  I  sung  at  first  tremulously,  then  false,  and  at  last 
out  of  time,  although  I  had  sung  that  piece  a  hundred  times 
before.  All  was  as  still  as  death  in  the  room,  and  I  really 
could  have  cried,  only  that  at  my  age  one  cannot  be  so  childish. 
I  struck  a  f^w  closing  notes  and  left  the  piano,  with  an 
apology  and  a  few  words  on  my  headache.  Notwithstanding 
all  this.  Ma  chere  mere  seemed  really  kind  towards  me ;  she 
seated  me  by  herself  on  the  sofa,  gave  me  a  great  cup  of  strong 
tea,  and  treated  me  as  people  treat  a  sick  child.  I  was  now 
really  come  to  the  crying  point ;  for  all  this,  together  with 
the  good  Lagman  Hok's  politeness,  overcame  me.  I  thought 
now  truly  this  was  the  completion  of  the  deplorable  part  I 
had  been  playing  the  whole  day,  and  that  Ma  chere  mere 
would  think  to  herself,  Lars  Anders  has  made  but  a  bad 
choice  ;  he  has  brought  home  a  wife,  who  is  at  the  same  time 
old  and  childish,  sickly  and  full  of  alFectation  !  I  was -down- 
right miserable. 

At  last  Bear  came,  and  then  it  was  time  to  leave ;  the 
weather  had  become  fine,  and  the  tea  had  done  me  good,  but 
the  mischief  had  taken  possession  of  my  soul.  I  was  out  of 
humour  with  myself,  with  my  husband,  with  the  whole  world ; 
and  Bear  sate  all  the  time  silent,  and  never  troubled  himself 
about  my  headache,  for  after  he  had  just  asked  how  I  was, 
and  I  had  answered  "Better,"  he  did  not  speak  another 
word. 


•  Judge. 


FEAXSISKA  WERKE  li  TO  MAEIA  M. 


17 


Wlien  I  came  home  I  had  something  in  the  kitchen  to  see 
ifter,  and  when  I  returned  to  the  drawing-room,  there  had 
Bear  settled  himself  into  the  sofa,  and  was  blowing  the  to- 
-bacco-smoke  in  long  wreaths  before  him  while  he  read  the 
newspaper.  He  had  not  exactly  chosen  the  most  suitable 
time  for  the  breach  of  our  compact.  I  made  a  remonstrance, 
and  that  truly  in  a  lively  tone,  but  in  reality  I  was  angry. 
I  took,  as  it  were,  a  bad  pleasure  in  making  him  pay  for  the 
annoying  day  I  had  passed. 

"  Pardon !"  exclaimed  he,  in  a  cheerful  voice,  and  still  con- 
tinued to  sit  with  the  pipe  in  his  mouth.  I  would  not  allow 
that,  for  I  thought  the  old  bachelor  might  have  indulged. him- 
self freely  enough  the  whole  afternoon. 

He  prayed  for  permission  "  only  this  once"  for  pipe-peace 
in  the  parlour  ;  but  I  would  admit  of  no  negotiation,  and 
threatened  that  if  the  pipe  was  not  immediately  taken  away, 
I  would  go  and  sit  for  the  whole  evening  in  the  hall.  In 
the  beginning,  he  besought  me  jokingly  to  grant  him  qui^t ; 
then  he  became  graver,  and  prayed  earnestly,  beseechingly  ; 
prayed  me  at  last  "  out  of  regard  to  him."  I  saw  that  .]ie 
wanted  to  try  me ;  saw  that  truly  from  his  heart  that"  he 
wished  I  would  yield — and  I,  detestable  creature,  would 
not.  I  remained  steadfastly,  although  always  cheerfully,  by 
my  determination,  and  at  last  took  up  my  work  in  order  to 
go  out.  Then  Bear  laid  down  his  pipe  : — oh,  if  he  had  been 
only  angry  and  spiteful ;  if  he  only  would  not  have  laid  down 
his  pipe,  but  would  have  marched  out  as  proud  as  a  nabob, 
banged  the  door  violently  after  him,  and  never  come  back 
again  the  whole  evening,  then  there  would  have  been  some 
excuse  for  me,  some  comfort,  something  paid  for  and  done 
with ;  and  then  I  could  have  touched  over  this  fatal  history 
so  finely  and  so  superficially.  But  he  did  none  of  all  these  : 
he  laid  the  pipe  aside,  and  remained  sitting  silently  ;  and 
with  that  I  began  immediately  to  endure  the  gnawings  of 
conscience  :  neither  did  he  make  any  of  his  grimaces,  but 
remained  looking  on  his  newspaper,  with  a  certain  grave  and 
quiet  mien  that  went  to  my  very  heart.  I  asked  him  to  read 
aloud  ;  he  did  so,  but  there  was  a  something  in  his  voice  that 
I  could  not  bear  to  hear;  in  a  sort  of  stifled  bitterness 
against  myself,  I  must  yet  tyrannise  over  him.  I  snatched 
the  newspaper  away  from  him — understand,  this  was  in  joke 


niE  KEIGllBOITllS 


— and  said  I  would  read  it  myself ;  lie  looked  at  me,  and  let 
me  have  my  way.  I  read,  in  a  tolerably  cheerful  voice,  of  a 
debate  in  the  English  House  of  Commons  ;  but  I  could  not 
hold  out  long.  I  burst  into  tears,  flew  to  him,  threw  my 
arms  round  his  neck,  and  prayed  him  to  forgive  my  bad 
humour  and  my  folly.  Without  answering,  he  held  me 
close  to  his  breast  so  tenderly,  so  forgivingly,  whilst  a  tear 
slowly  ran  down  his  cheek.  Never  did  I  love  him  so  much 
as  in  this  moment ;  in  this  moment  I  felt  for  him  real  love  ! 

I  would  have  begun  an  explanation,  but  he  would  not 
permit  it ;  and  now  it  was  my  turn  to  beg  of  him,  that  if  he 
loved  me,  to  relight  his  pipe,  and  to  smoke  directly  at  my 
very  side.  He  refused;  but  I  besought  him  so  long  and 
earnestly,  besought  it  as  a  token  of  continued  forgiveness, 
that  he  at  last  yielded.  I  held  my  face  as  much  as  possible 
over  the  smoke — it  was  to  me  the  incense  of  reconciliation  ; 
once  I  was  nearly  coughing,  but  I  changed  this  into  a  sigh, 
and  said,  "  Ah,  my  own  Bear,  your  wife  would  not  have  been 
so  angry  if  you  had  not  forgotten  her  for  the  whole  after- 
noon ;  she  lost  all  patience  while  she  was  longing  after  you." 

"  I  had  not  forgotten  you,  Eanny,"  said  he,  taking  the 
pipe  from  his  mouth,  and  looking  kindly  but  half  reproach- 
fully on  me ;  "  but  I  was  beside  a  peasant's  painful  death- 
bed  in  the  next  hamlet :  this  prevented  me  from  being  with 
you." 

Ashamed  to  the  very  soul,  I  covered  my  face  with  -my 
hands — I,  I  who  had  been  fostering  such  wicked  and  false 
mistrusts  against  him,  and  now  in  my  vanity  had  been 
revenging  myself — I,  unworthy  one — I  who  wished  to  make 
him  so  happy,  what  sweet  refreshment  had  I  prepared  for  the 
WTary,  troubled  man ! 

The  thought  of  my  folly  distresses  me  even  at  this  very 
moment ;  and  the  only  thing  that  can  give  me  any  comfort, 
is  the  feeling  that  he  and  I  love  one  another  better  since 
this  occurrence  than  before. 

Beloved,  good  Bear!  before  I  will  occasion  you  another 
disagreeable  moment,  you  may  smoke  every  day,  in  parlour, 
sleeping-room,  yes,  even  in  bed  itself,  if  you  will;  only  I 
pray  God  that  the  desire  to  do  so  may  not  possess  you ! 

And  now  I  return  to  your  letter,  and  to  a  question  which 
it  coiitains  :  "  Whether  I,  as  a  married  woman,  shall  v»  rite 


FRANSISKA  WERNER  TO  MARI  L  M. 


19 


to  you  as  williDgly  and  as  open-heartedly  as  I  did  before  ?" 
Yes,  my  Maria,  of  this  be  certain  ;  I  cannot  do  otherwise. 
It  is  now  seven  years  since  I  first  learned  your  value  ;  and 
since  that  moment  have  you  become  to  me  my  conscience, 
my  better  self.  You  were  the  clear  mirror  in  which  I  saw 
myself  as  I  was ;  you  were  true,  though  ever  gentle ;  and 
though  it  is  now  two  years  since  you  removed  from  me  far 
across  the  sea,  still  you  remain  towards  me  ever  the  same. 
Oh,  remam  ever  so,  Maria !  otherwise  I  should  fear  to  lose 
myself.  Under  your  eyes,  and  with  your  help,  my  moral 
being  developed  itself ;  under  your  eyes,  and  by  your  counsel, 
will  I  also  form  myself  into  a  good  wife.  It  is  pleasant  to 
me,  it  makes  my  life  richer,  to  live,  as  one  may  say,  in  your 
presence  and  with  you,  even  though  land  and  sea  separate 
us ;  especially  as  my  Bear  does  not  belong  to  that  class  of 
men  who  are  jealous  of  their  wives'  friends.  He  is  not  of 
the  opinion,  that  one  must  renounce  one's  friends  because  one 
has  a  husband  or  a  wife ;  he  is  not  one  to  narrow  the  breast ; 
he  is  too  good,  too  rational  for  that.  I  believe  he  would 
subscribe  to  the  words  of  the  beloved  teacher  who  instructed 
me  in  Christianity,  "  That  there  was  a  similarity  betw^een 
the  human  heart  and  heaven — the  more  angels  the  more 
room  for  them." 

Ah  see !  there  is  my  Bear !  Eead  that  which  I  have 
written,  and  subscribe  Bear. 

Friday,  6th  June. 

Thank  Grod !  all  is  right  between  Ma  chere  mere  and  me. 
How  unlike  can  one  day  be  to  another !  On  Tuesday,  so 
out  of  tune  ;  yesterday,  so  cheerful. 

Yesterday  afternoon  I  proposed  to  my  husband  to  go  and 
visit  Ma  chere  mere ;  he  assented  with  great  pleasure.  On 
the  way  I  related  how  foolishly  I  had  behaved  the  last  time, 
and  how  willingly  I  would  remove  any  unpleasant  impression 
which  I  might  have  made.  He  laughed,  made  faces,  looked 
very  kind,  and  so  we  came  to  the  place. 

There  was  a  great  commotion  and  bustle  in  the  whole 
house :  everybody  was  in  motion.  Ma  chere  mere  herself  as 
wing  and  wheel  in  the  whole  movement.  She  was  busy 
preparing  rooms  for  her  two  own  step-sons  (Bear  is  only  lialf 
Btep-son)  and  their  young  wives,  who  are  shortly  expected, 

B  2 


20 


THE  ]S'EIGHBOriig, 


and  who  will  take  up  their  quarters  there,  the  one  for  a  fe\f 
weeks,  the  other  for  altogether. 

Ma  chere  mere  received  us  in  the  kindest  manner :  Bear 
she  provided  with  newspapers  and  Virginia  tobacco ;  and  me 
she  bespoke  as  assistant  for  the  whole  afternoon.  I  was 
cheerful  and  willing,  and  succeeded  perfectly  in  pleasing  her. 
Furniture  w^as  removed,  curtains  rehung,  and  all  went  quickly 
and  well  under  her  commands  and  with  my  assistance.  We 
despatched  a  world  of  work,  and  were  right  merry  over  it ; 
many  were  the  bon-mots  w^hich  I  made,  greatly  to  Ma  chere 
mere's  amusement.  She  slapped  me,  pinched  my  ears, 
laughed  and  replied  merrily,  and  altogether  alForded  me  a 
deal  of  pleasure. 

There  is  something  quite  original  and  fresh  in  her  dis- 
position and  manners,  and  mode  of  thought,  and  she  has 
without  doubt  good  understanding  and  great  natural  wit. 
Her  mode  of  managing  her  household  appears  to  me  strange  ; 
she  treats  them  at  once  as  slaves  and  children,  with  severity 
and  tenderness  ;  and  they  on  their  part  appear  to  be  mucli 
attached  to  her,  and  obey  her  slightest  hint. 

One  only  time  she  and  I  were  near  coming  to  a  misunder- 
standing :  it  was  about  the  toilet-tables  of  the  young  wives, 
which  I  wished  to  have  a  little  more  luxuriously  supplied ; 
but  Ma  chere  mere  grew  angry,  excited  herself  over  "the 
cursed  luxury"  of  our  times,  and  over  the  pretensions  of 
young  wives  ;  declaring  that  the  toilet-tables  should  stand 
exactly  as  she  had  placed  them,  with  the  same  covers  and  the 
same  looking-glasses,  as  they  were  quite  good  enough.  To 
all  this  I  remained  silent,  and  therefore  all  was  soon  right 
again ;  yet  after  all  I  am  not  sure  whether  the  toilet-covera 
were  not  changed,  as,  soon  after,  Ma  chere  mere  betook 
herself  to  her  linen-press. 

To  the  arrangement  of  the  chambers  succeeded  several 
rougher  pieces  of  house  business,  in  which  I  was  invited  to 
take  part,  "  For,"  said  Ma  chere  mere,  "  it  will  do  you  good, 
little  friend,  to  see  how  things  are  managed  in  a  well-ordered 
household.  It  will  be  necessary  for  you  to  learn  this  and 
the  other  in  domestic  economy.  *  E-oasted  sparrows  do  not 
fly  down  people's  throats ;  and  one  must  look  if  there  be 
anything  in  the  cellar,  if  one  expect  anything  on  the  table.'  " 

I  followC'd  Ma  chere  mere  therefore  into  the  cellar,  where, 


FRAKSISKA  WEROTIt  TO  MAEIA  M. 


21 


with  a  large  piece  of  red  chalk  in  her  hand,  she  made  Tarious, 
and  to  me  cabalistical,  signs  and  strokes  upon  sprat  and 
herring  tubs,  all  which  she  explained  to  me,  and  then  led  me 
into  every  corner  of  these  subterraneous  and  well-super- 
intended vaults.  After  this  we  went  to  the  garret,  where  I 
assisted  in  the  examination  of  bread-safes ;  delivered  ana- 
themas over  rats,  and  weighed  several  flour  sacks.  Last  of 
all  I  must  be  weighed  myself,  and  as  I  proved  nOw  to  weigh 
quite  a  hundred-weight.  Ma  chere  mere  laughed  at  me  in  the 
most  extraordinary  manner,  asserting  that  a  woman  had  been 
burnt  as  a  vritch  in  the  time  of  Charles  XI.  because  she  was 
under  a  hundred-weight.  All  this  I  endured  in  the  most 
philosophical  manner — but  no  philosophy  whatever  would 
prevent  my  admiration  of  her  housekeeping  and  domestic 
arrangements.  This  admiration  came  from  my  heart ;  for  in 
truth  a  house  like  this,  so  completely  furnished  and  arranged 
in  small  as  well  as  in  great,  where  everything  has  its  ap- 
pointed place  and  stands  under  its  own  number,  such  a  little 
world  is  worthy  of  observation  and  admiration ;  and  no  leas 
to  be  admired  is  the  housewife,  who  is  the  living  chronicle  of 
all  this,  and  who  knows  her  affairs  as  well  as  any  general 
knows  his  war-craffc. 

When  all  this  rummaging  about,  and  this  thorough  house 
inspection  was  brought  to  an  end,  we  sate  down  on  a  sofa  to 
rest,  and  Ma  chere  mere  addressed  me  in  the  following 
manner:  "  It  is  only  now  and  then,  my  dear  Fransiska,  that 
I  make  such  a  house  review,  but  it  keeps  everything  m 
order,  and  fills  the  domestics  with  respect.  Set  the  clock 
only  to  the  right  time,  and  it  will  go  right  of  itself,  and  thus 
one  need  not  go  about  tick-tacking  like  a  pendulum.  Keep 
this  in  mind,  my  dear  Fransiska.  Many  ladies  affect  a  great 
deal,  and  make  themselves  very  important  with  their  bunch 
of  keys,  running  for  ever  into  the  kitchen  and  store-room ; — 
all  sluttishness,  all  bad  management,  Fransiska  ;  much  better 
is  it  for  a  lady  to  govern  her  house  with  her  head  than  with 
her  heels ;  the  husband  likes  that  best,  or  if  he  do  not  he  is  a 
stupid  fellow,  and  the  wife  ought  then  in  Heaven's  name  to 
box  his  ears  with  her  bunch  of  keys !  Many  ladies  are  for 
ever  scolding  and  treading  on  the  heels  of  their  sei  vants  ; 
that  does  no  good :  servants  must  also  have  their  libertj  and 


22 


THE  KEIGHBOTJES. 


rest ;  one  must  not  muzzle  the  ox  that  treads  out  the  corn. 
Let  your  people  be  answerable  for  all  they  do ;  it  is  good  for 
them  as  well  as  for  the  mistress.  Have  a  hold  upon  them 
either  by  the  heart  or  by  honour,  and  give  them  ungrudgingly 
whatever  by  right  is  theirs,  for  the  labourer  is  worthy  of  his 
hire.  But  then,  three  or  four  times  a  year,  but  not  at  any 
regular  time,  come  down  upon  them  like  the  day  of  judg- 
ment ;  turn  every  stone  and  see  into  every  corner,  storm  like 
a  thunder  tempest,  and  strike  down  here  and  there  at  the 
right  time  ;  it  will  purify  the  house  for  many  weeks ; — if 
there  were  no  thunder  one  could  not  live  in  peace  for  small 

This  was  Ma  chere  mere's  housekeeping  doctrine.  She 
next  turned  the  conversation  on  my  husband,  and  said,  "  Yes, 
you  can  say  justly,  my  dear  Fransiska,  that  you  are  married 
to  a  husband  who  is  a  right  good  fellow,  but  still  in  his  own 
way  he  is  very  wilful,  and  you  will  have  to  manage  him 
pretty  much  in  the  same  way  as  I  have  done.  Come,  we 
shall  see  how  you  will  do  !  You  are  little,  but  you  can  bestir 
yourself,  and  I  will  now  tell  you  how  you  must  conduct 
yourself  towards  your  husband.  You  will  always  find  him  an 
honourable  man,  therefore  I  give  you  this  one  especial  piece 
of  advice — never  have  recourse  to  untruths  with  him,  be  it 
ever  so  small,  or  to  help  yourself  out  of  ever  so  great  a 
difficulty,  for  untruth  always  leads  into  still  greater  difficulty, 
and  besides  this  it  drives  confidence  out  of  the  house.'* 

In  reply  I  told  her  that  which  I  had  sincerely  determined 
on  these  subjects ;  and  then  contented  with  each  other,  we 
went  into  the  usual  sitting-room,  where  we  found  Bear 
sitting  and  yawning  over  his  newspaper. 

Mademoiselle  Tuttin,  who  is  called  Adjutant  Tuttin  by  Ma 
chere  mere,  set  the  tea-table  in  order,  and  I,  at  the  request 
of  Ma  chere  mere,  sang  (thus  she  had  quite  forgotten  my 
first  essay)  ;  and  as  I  myself  felt,  sung  very  well.  She 
laughed  heartily  at  many  merry  little  songs  which  I  sang, 
and  I  saw  Bear's  eyes  full  of  delight  glancing  over  to  us  from 
above  his  newspaper.  After  tea  we  made  up  with  Tuttin 
Ma  chero  mere's  Boston  party,  which  was  one  of  the  most 
amusing  I  was  ever  at.  Ma  chere  mere  and  Bear  were  par- 
ticularly Lively  together,  and  made  themselves  very  merry  at 


FRANSISKA  WEEKER  TO  MAEIA  M. 


23 


my  expense  whenever  I  was  stupid  in  the  game,  which  pro- 
duced much  better  effect  than  if  I  had  played  like  a  master ; 
and  we  all  laughed  till  we  cried,  like  children. 

After  supper,  as  we  took  leave.  Ma  chere  mere  slapped  me 
heartily  on  the  shoulder,  kissed  me,  and  thanked  me  for  a 
merry  day.  The  weather  was  so  fine  when  we  came  out  on 
the  steps  that  we  determined  to  walk  part  of  the  way,  and  to 
send  the  cabriolet  before  us  to  a  certain  point.  Our  walk 
was  very  lively,  and  after  many  mischievous  pranks,  I  had 
the  luck  to  see  Bear  arrive  at  the  bottom  of  a  ditch.  I  can- 
not help  laughing  when  I  think  of  it;  he  looked  so  like  a 
real  bear  lying  there  on  four  feet  (between  us  two  I  am  not 
quite  sure  whether  he  did  not  allow  himself  to  be  rolled 
over).    The  good  Bear! 

But  I  will  not  always  be  talking  to  you  about  Bear  and 
his  Bearess.  You  must  have  some  knowledge  of  the  house 
and  family.  It  will  be  somewhat  difficult  on  this  last  subject 
to  be  quite  lucid,  but  endeavour,  good  Maria,  to  understand 
what  I  will  endeavour  to  make  clear. 

Greneral  Mansfelt  married  to  his  first  wife,  a  widow  lady 
named  Werner,  with  two  sons,  the  eldest  of  which  was  my 
husband ;  the  second,  Adolf,  who  has  been  dead  some  years. 
By  this  wife  the  General  had  two  sons  who  yet  live,  Jean 
Jacques  and  Peter  Mansfelt.  The  mother  of  these  two  died 
whilst  they  were  yet  children.  A  year  afterwards  the  Gene- 
ral married  a  rich  and  proud  Miss  Barbara  B  ,  our  pre- 
sent Ma  chere  mere.  Bear,  who  was  then  thirteen  years  old, 
was  but  little  satisfied  to  receive  a  step-mother  twenty  years 
of  age.  She,  however,  conducted  herself  most  exemplarily, 
and  made  an  excellent  although  stern  step-mother  for  the 
four  boys,  from  whom  she  won  both  reverence  and  love, 
notwithstanding  a  certain  rigour  and  economy  which  she 
practised  towards  them.  There  was,  however,  reason  for  the 
practice  of  this  latter  virtue ;  for  the  General,  who  was  him- 
self a  man  of  lavish  expenditure,  had  brought  his  affairs  into 
great  disorder,  and  his  wife  only  succeeded  in  preserving  her 
own  property  by  her  deed  of  settlement.  From  her  own 
income  she  provided  the  cost  of  the  four  step-sons'  education, 
in  which  she  spared  nothing. 

The  boys  were  made  to  observe  the  most  punctilious  respect 
in  the  paternal  house;  they  were  taught  a  certain  precise 


24 


THE  KEtG2B0tTE8. 


politeness,  and  a  French  style  of  manner.  Every  morning,  at 
a  stated  hour,  they  presented  themselves  before  their  parents, 
kissed  their  hands,  and  said,  "  Bon  jour,  Mon  eher  pere ; 
bonjour.  Ma  chere  mere!"  and  every  evening  in  the  same 
manner,  at  the  appointed  time,  came  the  hand-kiss  and  the 
"  Bon  soir,  Mon  cher  pere ;  bon  soir,  Ma  chere  mere !" 
(Thus  arose  the  appellation.  Ma  chere  mere,  which  the  sons 
always  apply  to  her.)  This  kissing  of  the  hand  still  remains 
whenever  the  sons  and  mother  meet,  although  the  French 
greeting  is  discontinued.  For  the  rest,  the  otherwise  stern 
step -mother  allowed  to  her  sons  a  deal  of  time  and  freedom 
for  games  and  bodily  exercises,  and  the  enjoyment  of  the 
fresh  air,  for  she  thought  to  strengthen  at  the  same  time 
both  body  and  mind  by  these  means,  and  they  had  on  the 
whole  a  happy  youth. 

G-eneral  Mansfelt  was  a  handsome  man  and  a  brave  soldier, 
but  at  the  same  time  extravagant,  domineering,  and  wilful. 
He  inquired  but  little  after  his  children,  and  lavished  away 
his  property.  Ma  chere  mere's  marriage  with  him  was  not 
happy,  and  when  he  died,  he  left  his  sons  nothing.  Since  his 
death  her  behaviour  to  them  has,  without  any  ostentation, 
been  the  most  generous ;  for,  without  making  any  difference 
between  the  sons  and  step- sons  of  her  husband,  she  bound 
herself  to  allow  each  one  of  them,  as  soon  as  they  came  of 
age,  a  certain  annual  sum,  whilst  she  herself  held  the  steward- 
ship of  her  large  but  debt-burdened  estate.  My  husband, 
who  had  chosen  his  own  path  in  life,  and  who  by  his  own 
ability  and  industry  had  w^on  for  himself  an  honourable 
position  in  society,  declined,  though  respectfully,  this  allow- 
ance, because  it  was  his  wish  to  be  dependent  on  no  one, 
and  least  of  all  on  Ma  chere  mere,  whose  despotic  will  did 
not  always  square  with  his  independent  feelings.  This, 
together  with  some  stiff  encounters  which  on  various  oc- 
casions Bear  and  Ma  chere  mere  have  had  together,  has  oc- 
casioned him  to  be  on  a  very  independent  and  good  footing 
with  her ;  whilst  the  other  sons  more  or  less  are  obliged  "^o 
accommodate  their  wills  to  hers.  Bear  and  she  staad,  as  it 
were,  in  fear  of  each  other,  but  have  at  the  same  time  the 
highest  mutual  esteem ;  yet  she  declares  that  she  will  never 
see  him  beside  her  as  physician.  She  sends  all  medicines  and 
all  doctors  whatever  to  the  fiend;  will  have  nothing  to  da 


FIftANSISKA  WEENER  TO  MARIA  M. 


25 


with  any  of  them ;  and  supports  her  opinion  by  the  proverb, 
that  "  Nobody  can  be  a  good  physician  till  he  has  filled  a 
churchyard." 

Since  I  have  undertaken  to  write  the  history  of  Ma  chere 
mere,  I  will  also  sketch  her  portrait.  See,  then,  a  tall  lady, 
of  a  large  but  handsome  growth,  whose  figure  still  retains 
the  symmetry  and  roundness  of  youth  ;  very  straight,  some- 
what stiff*,  and  almost  with  the  mien  and  bearing  of  a  general. 
The  countenance  would  be  handsome,  were  not  the  features 
so  strongly  marked  and  the  complexion  so  grey ;  the  chin, 
also,  is  somewhat  too  large  and  projecting.  Eound  the  mouth, 
which  is  furnished  with  large  white  teeth,  a  very  friendly 
pleasant  smile  often  plays ;  but  when  the  sentiment  is  less 
friendly,  the  under  lip  closes  over  the  upper,  and  gives  a 
character  of  such  stern  determination  as  is  not  pleasing  in  a 
woman.  But  Ma  chere  mere  is  a  peculiar  person.  Her  hair 
is  quite  grey,  and  streams  sometimes,  but  not  in  curls,  forth 
from  the  helmet,  which  I  may  now  tell  you  is  christened  by 
Ma  chere  mere  her  "  slurka,"  and  which  slurka  thrones  itself 
solitarily  on  the  stern,  high,  often  cloudy  forehead.  No 
ornament  nor  jewel  appears  on  her  attire ;  but  instead,  the 
greatest  cleanliness  is  attended  to,  and  a  something  strikingly 
accordant  and  appropriate.  Ma  chere  mere  never  is  tight 
laced.  (In  parenthesis  let  it  be  remarked,  that  I  should  not 
wonder  if  lacing  up  tight  may  not  have  something  to  do  with 
our  often  being  less  agreeable  in  company — the  soul  never 
can  move  freely  when  the  body  is  in  fetters.)  Her  dress 
generally  is  a  brown  or  grey  wadded  silk  gown ;  in  the  morn- 
ing the  still  handsome  neck  is  covered  by  a  white  kerchief, 
which  towards  noon  is  exchanged  for  a  standing  collar. 
The  hands  are  large,  but  well  made  and  white,  and  are  not 
always  used,  as  people  say,  in  the  most  pacific  work.  Ma 
chere  mere  has  a  rough  voice,  speaks  loud  and  distinctly, 
makes  use  sometimes  of  extraordinary  words,  and  has 'a 
vast  many  proverbs  at  her  tongue's  end.  She  walks  with 
great  strides,  often  in  boots,  and  swings  her  arms  about ;  still, 
whenever  it  is  her  will  to  do  so,  she  can  assume  a  style  of  the 
highest  and  mo&t  perfect  breeding.  People  accuse  her  of 
being  avaricious,  of  mixing  herself  in  the  affairs  of  others, 
and  with  paying  no  regard  to  convenance ;  many,  indeed,  are 
the  histories  which  are  related  of  her ;  nevertheless,  everj 


26 


THE  NEIGHBOimS. 


one  througliout  tlie  whole  country  has  the  highest  respect 
for  her,  and  her  word  is  worth  as  much  as  a  king's,  for 
the  universal  opinion  respecting  her  is  that  she  is  prudent, 
a  person  to  be  relied  upon,  and  a  steadfast  friend.  This  is  a 
great  deal,  I  think.  She  reminds  me  of  Grotz  von  Berlich- 
ingen  ;  and  it  sometimes  appears  to  me  as  if  deep  and  tender 
feeling  were  hidden  under  this  stern  exterior,  and  then  I  feel 
as  if  I  might  love  her. 

Hitherto,  she  has  been  the  steward  of  her  own  estate,  and 
has  managed  her  affairs  admirably  ;  now,  however,  she  wishes 
that  Jean  Jacques  should  take  part  with  her.  This  son  has 
studied  agriculture  abroad,  has  lately  married,  and  will  now 
come  and  settle  with  his  young  wife  at  Carlsfors.  Bear 
shakes  his  head  over  this  partnership — Ma  chere  mere  and 
Jean  Jacques ! 

It  is  impossible  to  speak  fully  of  Ma  chere  mere  without 
mentioning  her  maid  Elsa.  These  two  have  lived  together 
forty  years,  and  appear  as  if  it  were  impossible  for  the  one 
to  live  without  the  other.  Elsa  is  towards  her  mistress  at 
once  a  slave  and  a  tyrant.  She  is  so  avaricious  that  she 
almost  begrudges  her  mistress  the  wear  of  her  own  clothes, 
and  grumbles  over  every  clean  pocket-handkerchief  she  gives 
her.  But  in  fidelity,  order,  and  cleanliness,  she  has  not  her 
equal ;  and  on  this  account  her  mistress  regards  her  with  a 
certain  respect,  and  yields  in  many  a  little  strife  between 
them  the  mastery  to  her.  When  there  is  occasion,  Elsa 
will  work  for  her  mistress  night  and  day  :  Ma  chere  mere 
is  her  fate  ;  Ma  chere  mere's  room  is  her  sphere  of  action  ; 
Ma  chere  mere's  word  her  law ;  Ma  chere  mere's  person  her 
proper  self ;  without  her  lady,  Elsa  is  nothing.  Once  she 
received  permission  to  visit  her  family,  and  to  be  away  eight 
days ;  but  Elsa  was  back  with  her  mistress  before  two  days 
were  over,  because,  as  she  said,  she  could  not  support  herself 
so  long  from  her.  It  is  said  that  the  same  evening,  on  ac- 
count of  some  negligence  in  her  toilet,  she  received  a  box  on 
the  ear  from  her  mistress ;  she  bore  it  in  silence,  and  never 
after  this  trial  left  her  again.  Elsa  is  dry  and  stiff ;  her  form 
is  all  angles.  People  say  that  she  knows  more  of  Ma  chere 
mere  than  any  other  mortal ;  but  Elsa  is  silent  as  a  mummy, 
and  deserves  to  be  embalmed. 

Tuttin,  shadow  of  a  shade,  step  forth  !    Elsa  is  a  Kern- 


rRA^SISKA  ^YERT^EE  TO  MARIA  M. 


27 


orandt-like  shadow ;  Tuttin,  one  of  those  indeterminate  ones 
which,  without  character  itself,  cannot  take  a  determinate 
form  from  another.  The  beauty  of  Elsa  is  her  strong  fidelity  : 
Tuttin  says  continually,  "  The  G-eneralska  says,"  "  The 
G-eneralska  thinks,"  "  The  Greneralska  commands  ;"  yet  in 
secret  she  calumniates  her,  and  obeys  her  without  devotion. 
Humble  at  one  moment  to  self-abasement,  she  is  ready  at 
another  to  exalt  herself  above  measure,  if  the  strong  arm  of 
Ma  chere  mere  did  not  put  on  the  restraining-rein,  and  com- 
pel her  to  unfold  her  peculiar  ability  and  to  step  forth  from 
her  darkness,  with  all  her  excellent  talents  of  housewifery. 

After  one  glass  of  her  excellent  ale,  I  am  ready  to  exclaim, 
"  Long  life  to  Tuttin !"  But  how  will  Tuttin  contrive  to  live 
in  that  world  where  there  will  be  neither  baking  nor  brewing, 
where  no  more  ale  will  foam,  and  no  bread  will  rise  ?  how 
she  will  be  able  to  collect  together  ideas  there  ? — but  a  truce 
to  Tuttin  and  the  transmigration  of  souls,  I  will  not  go 
rambling  such  a  long  way  from  home. 

I  must  now  give  you  a  description  of  my  own  beloved 
home,  of  my  own  little  Rosen vik.  Rosen vik  belongs  to  the 
estate  of  Carlsfors,  and  lies  a  good  three  miles  from  W., 
where  my  husband  is  the  principal  and  most  beloved  phy- 
sician. He  rents  this  little  place  from  Ma  chere  mere,  be- 
cause he  is,  as  well  as  I,  so  fond  of  the  country.  It  is  to  us 
a  source  of  pleasure  rather  than  profit,  although  I  have  my 
own  speculations  about  the  garden,  out  of  which  I  think 
something  may  be  made,  though  as  yet  it  is  no  more  than  a 
wilderness.  The  garden,  a  birch-grove,  and  a  meadow  in 
wliich  three  cows  and  a  horse  have  their  living,  is  the  whole 
demesne  of  Eosenvik.  "Why  it  has  this  name  of  Eosenvik  or 
Eose-Creek,  I  cannot  imagine,  as,  although  it  lies  on  a  creek 
of  the  Helga  Lake,  no  rose-bushes  are  to  be  found  near  it ; 
nothing  but  a  quantity  of  hyssop  and  elder.  This  w^e  may 
preserve,  and  not  throw  the  other  away  ;  but  I  hope  that 
Eosenvik  may  yet  do  honour  to  its  name ;  and  in  the  mean 
time,  that  the  beautiful  may  not  supplant  the  useful,  I  shall 
plant  gooseberry-bushes,  peas,  and  beans,  in  plenty.  On  the 
whole,  I  rejoice  to  find  myself  in  a  place  where  there  is  yet 
something  to  do,  and  where  all  is  not  ready  and  complete. 
My  dinposition  and  my  temperament  require  much  employ- 
ment, and  I  know  how  dear  that  is  for  which  one  has  worked 


28 


THE  NEIGHBOURS, 


The  house  is  small,  but  comfortably  furnisbed ;  wo  have  fo'ir 
rooms  and  a  kitcben  on  tbe  ground-floor.  Bear  bas  bad  tbera 
all  very  prettily  furnisbed  ;  especially  tbe  drawing-room,  wdtb 
its  blue-cbintz  covered  furniture  and  wbite  muslin  curtains, 
is  a  sweetly  pretty  room.  In  tbe  second  story  are  two 
handsome  guest  chambers.  The  kitcben  and  store-room 
were,  I  must  acknowledge,  but  indifferently  supplied,  but 
that  is  a  need,  thank  Grod !  soon  remedied. 

In  respect  to  money,  my  husband  bas  made  a  regulation 
which,  at  the  same  time  that  it  gives  me  pleasure,  bas  occa- 
sioned me  some  little  uneasiness.  He  puts  all  bis  money 
into  a  strong  box,  to  which  he  has  bad  two  keys  made,  the 
one  he  keeps  and  I  tbe  other,  with  full  permission  to  take 
out  as  much  money  as  I  will,  and  when  I  will,  without  ren- 
dering any  account  to  him.  This  proof  of  li.  s  perfect  con- 
fidence in  my  prudence  delights  me,  and  at  tbe  same  time 
that  this  confidence  in  me  is  a  far  stronger  bond  than  any 
avarice  on  his  part  could  be.  I  always  fear  to  take  out  too 
much,  and  not  to  economise  as  I  ought ;  constantly  avoiding 
to  indulge  my  heart  or  even  my  thoughts  in  any  little  extra- 
ordinary expenditure,  because  I  myself  brought  not  a  penny 
into  tliat  coffer ;  all  that  I  find  there  belongs  ti^  him,  and  is 
tbe  wages  of  bis  labour.  It  seems  to  me  as  if  I  should  be 
more  free,  and  that  it  would  be  better  if  be  would  allow  me 
monthly  a  stated  sum  to  manage  with.  One  day  I  made  this 
proposal  to  him,  confessing  all  my  scruples  to  him  with  tears 
in  my  eyes,  but  he  would  not  hear  a  word  of  it.  "  Are  wo 
not  one  ?"  said  be,  "  and  I  have  seen  already  that  you  are  a 
skilful  manager  With  respect  to  tbe  scruples,  be  assured 
me  that  I  should  lose  them  as  we  came  to  know  each  other 
better,  for  that  then  I  should  find  that  there  would  be  no  mine 
and  thine  between  us  two.  I  am  greatly  disposed  to  believe 
in  the  good  man's  prophecy;  but  yet  I  intend,  not  only  for 
tbe  peace  of  my  own  conscience,  but  for  the  sake  of  good 
order,  to  keep  an  exact  account  of  all  my  expenditure. 

I  am  greatly  pleased  with  the  little  maiden  that  Bear  bas 
provided  for  me,  and  who  is  to  be  my  own  maid :  she  is  a 
young  peasant  girl,  with  such  a  happy,  innocent,  pretty  ap- 
pearance, as  does  one  good  even  to  see.  She  is  quiet  and 
industrious,  has  a  good  understanding  and  a  good  heart,  so 
that  it  will  be  a  pleasure  to  me  to  instruct  her.    If  God  givu 


TEANSISKA  WERNER  TO  MARIA  M. 


29 


me  children,  Sissa  shall  take  care  of  them.  I  will  model  her 
into  a  real  Bonne  for  them,  so  that  I  may  be  easy  on  their 
account  when  they  are  not  in  my  own  arms.  The  recollection 
of  my  own  childhood  tells  me  how  important  first  impressions 
are ;  therefore,  purity,  goodness,  and  good  sense,  shall  watch 
over  the  cradle  of  my  child ;  shall  even  then  begin  to  esta- 
blish themselves  in  the  soul ;  and  one  does  not  soon  become 
indifferent  to  the  friends  of  one's  childhood.  I  am  speaking 
all  this  time  of  educating  my  maid,  but  believe  me,  my  Maria, 
that  I  will  not  forget  also  to  educate  myself.  How  is  it 
that  the  flame  is  so  soon  extinguished  on  the  altar  of  love  ? 
Because  the  married  pair  forget  to  supply  materials  for  the 
fire.  One  must  unfold,  and  cultivate,  and  perfect  oneself  in 
one's  progress  through  life,  and  then  life  itself  will  become 
an  unfolding  of  love  and  happiness. 

My  first  employment  will  be  to  arrange  my  house  so  that 
contentment  and  peace  may  dwell  in  it.  I  will  endeavour 
to  be  a  wise  lawgiver  in  my  small,  but  not  mean  world ;  and 
do  you  know  what  law  I  mean  first  of  all  to  promulgate  and 
enforce  with  the  most  rigorous  exactness  ?  A  law  for  the 
treatment  of  animals  ;  thus — 

All  domestic  animals  shall  be  kept  with  the  utmost  care, 
and  treated  in  a  friendly  and  kindly  manner.  They  shall 
live  happily,  and  shall  be  killed  in  that  mode  which  shall 
make  death  least  painful  to  them. 

No  animal  shall  be  tortured  in  the  kitchen  ;  no  fish  shall 
be  cleaned  while  alive,  nor  struggle  into  the  kettle ;  no  bird 
shall,  while  half  dead,  be  hung  up  on  a  nail ;  a  stroke  with 
the  knife  shall  as  soon  as  possible  give  them  death,  and  free 
t-hem  from  torture. 

These,  and  several  other  commands  shall  be  contained  in 
my  laws.  How  much  unnecessary  cruelty  is  perpetrated 
every  day  because  people  never  think  of  what  they  do ;  and 
how  uncalled  for,  how  unworthy  is  cruelty  tow^ards  animals ! 
Is  it  not  enough  that  in  the  present  arrangement  of  things 
they  are  sentenced  during  their  lives  to  be  subject  to  us, 
and  after  their  deaths  to  serve  us  for  food,  w  ithout  our  em- 
bittering yet  more  this  heavy  lot  ?  We  are  compelled  in 
many  cases  to  act  hostilely  towards  them,  but  there  is  nc 
reason  why  we  need  become  cruel  enemies.  How  unspeak- 
ably less  woiild  they  suffer,  if  in  all  those  circumstances  in 


THE  KEIGMIBOITES. 


which  they  resembled  mankind,  we  acted  humanely  towards 
til  em  ;  and  if  we  had  compassion  on  them  in  the  weakness 
of  their  age,  in  the  suffering  of  their  sickness,  and  in  death. 

There  were  laws  in  the  old  world  which  made  mildness 
towards  animals  a  sacred  duty  of  mankind,  whilst  the  viola- 
tion of  such  laws  were  severely  punished ;  and  we,  Maria, 
we  who  acknowledge  a  religion  of  love,  shall  we  act  worse 
towards  the  animal  creation  than  the  heathen  did  ?  Did 
not  He  who  established  the  kingdom  of  love  on  the  earth, 
say  that  not  a  sparrow  fell  to  the  ground  without  the  know- 
ledge of  our  Father  which  is  in  heaven  ?  Observe,  Maria, 
he  said  not  that  the  sparrow  should  not  fall,  but  that  it 
should  not  fall  without  being  seen  by  the  eye  of  the  Uni- 
versal Father.  Yes,  all  the  unnecessary  suffering  which  the 
intemperance,  the  folly,  the  cruelty  of  man,  occasions  to  ani- 
mals is  observed,  and  heard  also  are  their  lamentable  cries 
and  their  complaints.  On  the  other  side  the  grave  may  not 
an  avenging  echo  of  the  same  add  yet  one  more  pang  to  hell, 
and  trouble  even  the  peace  of  the  spirits  in  heaven  ? 

Oh,  Maria!  let  not  us  women  and  housewives  be  de- 
serving of  this  punishment.  Let  us,  when  we  come  before 
the  judgment-seat  of  the  Universal  Father,  be  pure  from  all 
unthankfulness,  and  abuse  of  any  creature  which  he  has 
made.  Let  us  deserve  in  that  better  world  to  see  around  us 
an  ennobled  race  of  animals,  to  live  with  them  in  a  loving 
relationship,  even  as  we  have  already  begun  on  earth ! 

Here  comes  Bear!  who  announces  to  me  that  we  must 
soon  go  and  pay  visits  to  our  neighbours :  we  have  many  of 
them,  and  I  am  to  understand  that  there  are  people  among 
them  who  are  longing  after  my  acquaintance — ^very  good, 
sensible  people,  so  he  assures  me. 

Hold  yourself  therefore  in  readiness  to  make  new  acquaint- 
ance; brothers-in-law  and  sisters-in-law  also  I  shall  soon 
have  to  introduce  to  you.  I  am  glad  to  think  of  their  arrival ; 
especially  will  it  delight  me  to  become  acquainted  with  my 
husband's  best-beloved  brother,  Peter  Mansfelt,  who  is  a  very 
amiable  man  and  a  distinguished  lawyer.  In  a  month  we 
also  expect  a  guest  at  Eosenvik ;  and  with  all  these,  and 
c  specially  with  Bear,  I  am  anticipating  a  very  cheerful  and 
happy  life. 

I  could  find  pleasure  in  writing  a  romance  on  all  this: 


^RA^"SISKA  WERNER  TO  MARIA  M 


31 


romances  commonly  end  with  a  marriage,  but  do(  s  not  the 
proper  romance  of  h-iiman  life  here  have  its  beginning  ?  Seen 
in  the  whole,  the  life  of  every  man  is  a  romance — a  little 
episode  out  of  the  great  romance  of  the  "  Book  of  Life," 
which  is  written  by  that  grea?t  original  author,  "  The  World." 

Suppose,  therefore,  Maria,  that  I  should  write  you  a  little 
romance.  Let  it,  my  good,  affectionate  reader,  hold  a  place 
in  your  heart ;  whether  it  be  cheerful  or  sad,  let  me  hope 
that  you  will  not  cast  it  from  you. 

Farewell !  think  kindly  on  your  romantic  and  devoted 

Fransiska. 

CHAPTEE  11. 

Rosenvik,  June  9th. 

It  was  cool  and  clear  weather  yesterday  morning.  I 
seated  myself  in  the  cabriolet  by  the  side  of  Bear,  who,  as 
usual  at  eight  o'clock,  drove  to  the  town.  He  left  me  at 
Carlsfors,  promising  to  call  for  me  on  his  return,  in  case  he 
did  not  forget  it — forget  it  ? — horrible  Bear ! — and  so  pro- 
ceeded he  with  these  words  as  a  passport. 

As  I  advanced  up  the  long  beautiful  walk  which  leads  to 
the  principal  front,  I  saw  a  tall,  extraordinary  figure  standing 
in  the  court,  appareled  in  a  long  grey  cloak  and  green  cap, 
who  struck  about  her  with  something  which  seemed  like  a 
witch's  staff,  while  she  cried  with  a  strong  voice,  "Drive  up 
to  the  door,  do  you  hear!  drive  up  to  the  door  with  the 
heaven-chariot !" 

I  glanced  involuntarily  towards  heaven,  filled  with  the  idea 
of  the  fiery  chariot  of  the  prophet  Elisha  ;  but  the  idea 
quickly  vanished,  as  the  moment  afterwards  I  recognised  in 
the  figure  before  me  the  person  of  Ma  chere  mere,  whom,  as 
I  came  near,  I  found  to  be  scolding  her  groom,  because  the 
oats  were  already  exhausted,  and  accompanying  her  moral 
discourse  by  the  powerful  brandishing  of  her  whip — but  only 
in  the  air. 

The  moment  she  became  aware  of  my  presence,  her  coun- 
tenance changed ;  she  seized  my  hand  cordially,  and  pressing 
it,  said  in  a  friendly  voice,  "  Nay,  see !  good  day,  my  dear 
Fransiska,  you  come  just  in  the  right  moment.  I  have  put 
on  my  Januarius  to-day,"  added  she,  pointmg  to  her  cloak, 


32 


THE  NEIGHBOURS. 


"  because  it  seemed  to  me  rather  cold.  My  greys  will  be 
here  immediately  with  the  heaven-chariot,  and  t'nen  we  will 
have  a  drive  together;"  and  at  these  words  four  horses 
brought  into  the  court  an  extraordinary  vehicle,  whose  roof 
rested  on  four  tall  pillars.    This  was  the  heaven-chariot. 

Ma  chere  mere  ordered  me  to  mount,  and  then  climbed  up 
afterwards  and  seized  the  reins,  whilst  a  servant  took  his 
seat  behind.  Ma  chere  mere  gave  a  tremendous  crack  with 
her  whip,  and  we  drove  off.  I  was  afraid  at  first,  for  we 
went  at  full  speed,  and  the  heaven- chariot  went  anything 
but  in  a  heavenly  manner.  The  horses  for  some  time  were 
refractory;  but  Ma  chere  mere  stood  up  and  applied  the 
whip  to  such  purpose  that  they  became  perfectly  obedient. 
With  a  pleasant  "  By  my  soul!  won't  I  teach  them!"  she 
seated  herself  again.  She  laughed  to  see  how  pale  I  was, 
drove  much  slower,  and  began  to  talk  cheerfully,  desiring  me 
to  tell  her  all  about  my  housekeeping  affairs  at  Eosenvik. 
As  soon  as  I  was  convinced  that  she  was  a  most  excellent 
driver,  I  became  calm  and  cheerful  also,  and  gave  myself  up 
to  the  pleasure  which  I  involuntarily  feel  when  I  am  with 
her. 

"We  saw  many  labourers,  hedgers  and  ditchers,  and  such 
like  people  at  their  work.  Ma  chere  mere  spoke  with  many 
of  them,  praised  some,  scolded  others  ;  and  one  thing  I  could 
not  fail  to  observe,  how  good  the  understanding  seemed  to 
be  between  her  and  her  dependents,  how  perfectly  they 
seemed  to  know  her,  and  how  they  gave  each  other  proverb 
for  proverb. 

During  our  drive  we  nearly  overturned  Lagman  Hok,  w^ho 
came  jogging  on  in  a  desobligeant,  and  whose  coachman  was 
so  startled  by  the  appearance  of  the  heaven-chariot  that 
he  turned  from  right  to  left,  and  exactly  in  the  direction 
which  w^e  took.  It  would  soon  have  been  all  over  with  the 
desobligeant. 

"The  deuce!  how  you  drive,  Lagman!"  exclaimed  Ma 
chere  mere  in  a  thundering  voice,  whilst  her  powerful  arm 
neldback  the  horses,  and  by  a  quick  turn  prevented  any  mis- 
fortune. 

Presently  the  heaven-chariot  and  the  desobligeant  stood 
confidentially  side  by  side ;  and  again  in  good  humour,  she 
said  laughingly  and  jestingly  to  Lagman  Hok,  who  looked 


FEA>^STSKA  VERNER  TO  MARIA  M. 


33 


out  from  his  green  curtains  in  consternation,  "  Dear  Lagman, 
you  have  so  infected  your  coachman  with  your  poetical 
fancies  that  he  has  confounded  the  rule  of  the  road." 

Lagman  Hok  and  poetical  fancies  !  that  is  quite  impossible 
thought  I. 

"  When  a  chariot  of  heaven  approaches,"  replied  the  Lag- 
man,  more  poetically  than  I  expected,  "  who  can  think  about 
the  statutes  of  earthly  roads  ?" 

So  jested  the  two  together  for  a  while,  and  then  the 
heaven-chariot  and  the  disobligeant  went  on  their  respective 
ways. 

On  our  return  home  Ma  chere  mere  was  in  the  liveliest 
humour,  and  we  fell  into  a  very  animated  conversation  on 
men  and  women  and  marriage.  Ma  chere  mere's  doctrine 
for  women  was,  indeed,  no  doctrine  for  coquettes ;  it  might 
be  simimed  up  thus — "  Act  so  that  your  husband  and  all 
men  may  esteem  you  ;  thus  you  will  enjoy  peace  in  your  own 
house  and  honour  in  your  life."  Esteem  and  reputation  she 
considers  as  the  most  valuable  possessions  of  this  world. 

"  The  rules  for  the  behaviour  of  young  women  towards 
men,"  said  she,  "  may  be  in  general  somewhat  too  rigid. 
They  remind  me  of  an  old  song  which  I  heard  in  my  child- 
hood, of  the  damsel  Eegina,  and  of  which  I  still  remember 
these  words : 

"  Comes  a  fine  young  man  to  offer  thee  liis  arm, 
So  make  thy  curtsey  and  answer, 

*  No,  thank  you  most  kindly,  I  go  well  alone !' 
And  comes  a  fine  young  man  to  ask  thee  to  dance, 

So  make  thy  curtsey  and  answer, 

*  No,  thank  you  most  kindly,  I  dance  well  alone  I'  " 

I  took  up  the  words  of  the  old  song  with  her.  She 
laughed,  but  remarked  gravely,  "  That  song  is  really  not  so 
very  foolish  after  all,  little  friend.  I  will  not  exactly  say  as 
much  as  it,  but  this  I  will  say,  that  to  dance  or  to  walk  with 
any  man  but  your  husband  may  have  its  doubtful  side.  A 
young  wife — lay  my  words  to  heart — cannot  be  too  circum- 
spect in  her  conduct,  that  she  may  not  expose  herself  to 
remark.  She  must  take  heed  of  herself,  my  dear  Eransiska, 
take  heed  of  herself.  I  grant  you  that  this  our  age  is  more 
moral  than  that  of  my  youth,  when  King  Grustave  III.,  of 
blessed  memory,  introduced  Erench  manners  and  Erench 

c 


THE  ]?fEIGlI130TJRS. 


fashions  into  our  country ;  and  I  believe  now  that  there  aro 
mucli  fewer  Atheists  and  Asmodeuses  in  the  world.  But  as 
I  said  before,  you  must  take  heed  to  yourself,  Transiska,  for 
the  tempter  may  come  to  you,  just  as  well  as  many  another 
one ;  not  because  you  are  handsome — for  you  are  not  hand- 
some, and  you  are  very  short — but  your  April-countenance 
has  its  own  little  charm,  and  then  you  sing  very  prettily ;  aa 
one  may  say  you  have  your  own  little  attractions.  And 
some  day  or  other  a  young  coxcomb  may  come  and  figure 
away  before  you ;  now  mind  my  advice,  keep  him  at  a 
distance,  keep  him  at  a  distance  by  your  own  proper  beha- 
viour. But  if  this  should  not  suffice  for  him — should  he 
still  make  advances,  and  speak  fulsome  seductive  words,  then 
you  must  look  at  him  with  a  countenance  of  the  highest  pos- 
sible astonishment,  and  say — '  Sir,  you  are  under  a  great  mis- 
take. It  cannot  be  me  that  you  mean!'  Should  this  not 
answer  the  purpose,  but  he  still  continue  to  make  advances, 
then  go  you  directly  to  your  husband,  and  say — '  My  friend, 
so  and  so  has  occurred,  and  so  and  so  have  I  acted ;  now  you 
must  act  just  as  you  think  proper !'  Then,  my  dear  Fransiska, 
depend  upon  it,  the  Corydon  will  soon  discover  that  the 
clock  has  struck,  and,  no  little  ashamed,  he  will  go  about  his 
own  business ;  whilst  you  will  have  no  shame,  but,  on  the 
contrary,  honour  from  the  affair,  and  beyond  this,  will  find 
that  a  good  conscience  makes  a  happy  countenance,  and  that 
*  a  good  conscience  is  the  greatest  luxury.'  " 

Ma  chere  mere's  good  counsel  seemed  to  me  indescribably 
entertaining ;  but,  unfortunately,  as  she  had  invited  two  old 
and  poor  maiden  ladies,  who  are  partly  supported  by  her 
bounty,  to  dinner,  they  entered  whilst  we  were  in  the  very 
height  of  our  discourse.  One  of  them  in  a  dress  trimmed 
with  two  rows  of  lace.  The  countenance  of  Ma  chere  mere 
darkened  the  moment  she  saw  this  ;  and  scarcely  had  the  un- 
lucky maiden  made  her  salutations  and  seated  herself,  than 
she  began  a  sharp  tirade  against  the  two  lace  trimmings. 

"  One  row,"  said  she,  "would  have  been  a  superfluity, but 
two  are  unpardonable!" 

The  poor  lady  endured  the  severe  reprimand.  In  vain  she 
began  to  excuse  herself  by  saying  that  the  upper  row  was  put 
on  to  hide  a  join. 

*'I  must  tell  you  what,  my  dear  friend,"  exclaimed  Ma 


FRANSISKA  WEENER  TO  MAEIA  M. 


35 


cliere  mere,  "  when  people  are  not  above  accepting  alms,  they 
ought  not  to  be  above  showing  a  join !  Yes,  yes,  this  I  must 
tell  you,  poverty  is  no  disgrace ;  it  is  not  every  one  who  is 
born  with  a  silver  spoon  in  his  mouth  ;  but  vanity  in  poverty 
— that  is  the  devil  in  boots !  Now,  now  do  not  weep  on  this 
account ;  reproofs  are  not  millstones — reproofs  don't  bite  to 
the  bone.  Take  off  both  rows  of  lace,  and  it  shall  be  my  care 
that  you  possess  a  dress  in  which  no  one  shall  see  a  join." 

The  poor  old  maiden  seemed  consoled  at  once,  and  again 
Ma  chere  mere  was  in  good  humour,  and  as  I  heard  the 
cabriolet  drive  up,  I  rose  to  take  my  leave. 

"How,  now,"  said  Ma  chere  mere,  cordially,  "are  you 
going,  my  dear  Fransiska  ?  I  suppose  it  is  no  use  inviting 
you  and  your  husband  just  now  to  stay  dinner.  Nay,  away 
with  you  in  Heaven's  name,  only  come  again  soon ;  because 
you  see,  my  child,  you  suit  me  to  a  hair,  and  you  cannot 
come  too  often.  See,  indeed !  see,  indeed !  go  now  !  I  never 
like  people  standing  so  long  to  take  leave.    Adieu  !  adieu!" 

I  got  away  as  soon  as  I  could,  and  ran  off  laughing.  And 
now  I  say  to  you  adieu,  adieu,  also,  for  I  will  bid  good-day 
to  my  returning  Bear.  I  can  now  keep  him  a  few  days  with 
me. 

llth  June. 

Here  I  am  again  sitting  with  pen  in  my  hand,  impelled 
by  a  desire  for  writing,  yet  with  nothing  particular  to  write 
about.  Everything  in  the  house  and  in  the  whole  household 
arrangement  is  in  order.  Little  patties  are  baking  in  the 
kitchen ;  the  weather  is  oppressively  hot ;  and  every  leaf  and 
bird  seem  as  if  deprived  of  motion.  The  hens  lie  outside  in 
the  sand  before  the  window  ;  the  cock  stands  solitary  on  one 
leg,  and  looks  upon  his  harem  with  the  countenance  of  a 
sleepy  sultan:  Bear  sits  in  his  room  writing  letters.  The 
door  is  open  between  us.  I  hear  him  yawn.  That  infects 
me — oh  !  oh ! — I  must  go  and  have  a  little  quarrel  with  Bear 
on  purpose  to  awaken  us  both. 

I  want  at  this  moment  a  quire  of  writing-paper  on  which 
to  bake  sugar-cakes.  Bear  is  terribly  miserly  of  his  writing- 
paper,  and  on  that  very  account  I  must  have  some  now. 

Later, 

All  is  done!    A  complete  quarrel,  and  how  completely 
c  2 


THE  NEIGHBOTJBS. 


vride  awake  are  we  after  it !  You,  Maria,  must  hear  all,  thai 
you  may  thus  see  how  it  goes  on  among  married  people. 

I  went  to  my  husband,  and  said  quite  meekly,  "  My  angel- 
bear,  you  must  be  so  very  good  as  to  give  me  a  sheet  of 
writing-paper  to  bake  sugar-cakes  upon." 

He  (in  consternation).    A  quire  of  my  writing-paper? 

She.  Yes,  my  dear  friend,  of  your  very  finest  writing- 
paper. 

He.  Einest  writing-paper !  are  you  mad  ? 
She.  Certainly  not :  but  I  believe  you  are  a  little  out  of 
your  senses. 

He.  You  covetous  sea-cat,  leave  off  raging  among  my 
papers !    You  shall  not  have  my  paper ! 

She.  Miserly  beast  1  I  shall  and  I  will  have  the  paper. 

He.  "I  shall!"  Listen  a  moment.  Let's  see  now  how 
you  will  accomplish  your  will.  And  the  rough  Bear  held 
both  my  small  hands  fast  in  his  great  paws. 

She.  You  ugly  Bear  !  You  are  worse  than  any  of  those 
that  walk  on  four  legs.  Let  me  loose !  let  me  loose  !  else  I 
shall  bite  you.  And  as  he  would  not  let  me  loose,  I  bit  him 
— yes,  Maria,  I  bit  him  really  on  the  hand ;  at  which  he  only 
laughed  scornfully,  and  said — 

"  Yes,  yes,  my  little  wife,  that  is  always  the  way  of  those 
who  defy  without  the  power  to  act.  Take  the  paper !  now 
take  it !" 

She.  Ah  !  let  me  loose,  let  me  loose ! 

He.  Ask  prettily. 

She.  Dear  Bear ! 

He.  Acknowledge  your  weakness. 

She.  I  do. 

He.  Pray  for  forgiveness. 
She.  Ah!  forgiveness! 
He.  Promise  amendment. 
She.  O  yes,  yes,  amendment ! 

He.  Nay,  I'll  pardon  you.  But  now,  no  sour  faces,  dear 
wife,  but  throw  your  arms  round  my  neck  and  kiss  me. 

I  gave  him — a  little  box  on  the  ear,  snatched  a  quire  of 
paper,  and  ran  off  with  loud  exultation.  Bear  followed  into 
the  kitchen,  growling  horribly;  but  then  I  turned  round 
npon  him  armed  with  two  delicious  little  patties,  which  1 
aimed  at  his  mouth,  and  there  they  vanished.    Bear  all  at 


FRANSISKA  WEENEE  TO  MABIA  M. 


37 


once  was  quite  still,  the  paper  was  forgotten,  and  reconcilia- 
tion concluded. 

There  is,  Maria,  no  better  way  of  stopping  the  mouths  of 
these  lords  of  the  creation  than  by  putting  into  them  some- 
thing good  to  eat. 

This  afternoon  we  shall  begin  our  visits  to  our  neighbours. 
I  shall  dress  myself  very  nicely ;  shall  wear  a  little  straw 
bonnet  with  lilacs  in  it,  which  is  right  handsome  ;  and  mark 
only  with  what  satisfaction  Bear  will  present  "  my  wife  !  my 
wife!"  It  is  with  a  peculiar  and  a  delighted  tone  that  ho 
says  "my  wife!"  but  at  this  moment  "  my  wife  "  dare  not 
stop  any  longer  talking,  she  must  await  her  husband  at  the 
dinner-table. 

Evening. 

Again  a  little  strife!  It  is  dangerous  to  wake  the  slum- 
bering lion.    The  scene  is  over  our  dessert. 

He.  My  dear  friend,  which  bonnet  do  you  think  of  wear- 
ing this  afternoon  ? 

She.  My  little  straw  bonnet  with  lilacs. 

He.  That  ?  O  no,  wear  the  white  crape  bonnet,  it  is  so 
pretty. 

She.  That  ?  My  only  state-and-gala  bonnet !  What  can 
make  you  think  of *that,  my  angel  ?  to  sit  in  the  cabriolet  in 
the  dust — and  it  perhaps  rain. 

He.  Then  it  would  not  get  dusty. 

She.  How  witty  you  are !  but  then  the  rain  would  not 
improve  my  bonnet. 

He.  My  dear  Fanny,  you  would  give  me  great  pleasure  if 
you  wore  that  bonnet. 

She.  Then,  dearest  Bear,  I  will  wear  it,  even  though  it 
rained  and  were  dusty  at  the  same  time. 

And  thus  I  now  go  to  put  on  the  white  bonnet.  "What 
would  Madame  Polcker  say  if  she  saw  me  driving  on  a 
'^ountry  road  in  it?  Our  little  gardener  youth  serves  on  this 
extraordinary  occasion  as  footman,  in  a  grey  jacket  witli 
green  velvet  collar. 

Friday,  12tl3. 

"  But  really,"  exclaimed  Bear,  as  he  saw  his  wife  yester- 
day in  her  visiting  dress,  "  you  look  so  lovely  in  that  bonnet  I 
Positively  JVIa  chere  mere  must  see  you  in  it:  we  will  just 


38 


THE  NEIGHBOURS. 


call  and  speak  a  word  at  Carlsfors  before  we  go  further.  It 

is  really  very  pretty  !" 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  Well  just  as  you  like,  my  love,  if  it 
will  not  make  us  too  late  at  the  other  places." 

"  Ah,  that  must  take  its  chance  :  Ma  chere  mere  must  cee 
my  little  wife  to-day." 

See  now,  therefore,  the  little  wife  in  the  little  bonnet, 
sitting  shaking  in  the  little  cabriolet,  and  sending  beseeching 
glances  up  towards  heaven,  which  seemed  glooming  over  the 
little  bonnet.  In  the  mean  time  we  reach  Carlsfors  without 
a  drop  of  rain,  and  found  visitors  there.  Ma  chere  mere 
met  us  in  the  most  joyful  and  friendly  manner  ;  kissed  me, 
examined  me  from  head  to  foot,  patted  me  on  the  cheek,  and 
said  I  looked  like  a  winter  moon. 

"  You  have  a  little  wife,  Lars  Anders,"  said  she,  "  but  one 
can  say  of  her  '  little  and  good.'  " 

Bear  looked  delighted  ;  for  me,  I  must  confess  that  it  vexes 
me  that  Ma  chere  mere  thinks  me  so  extremely  little, — one 
might  fancy  that  she  did  not  consider  me  a  complete  human 
being,  yet  I  am  such. 

Presently  after  our  arrival,  other  visitors  also  made  their 
appearance,  and  I  sat  myself  down  to  observe  the  company. 
My  eyes  soon  riveted  themselves  on  a  very  small  lady,  really 
less  than  I,  who  was  still  young,  and  whose  whole  being 
exhibited  an  extraordinary  sprightliness.  She  was  of  dark 
complexion,  had  lively  brown  eyes,  a  somewhat  large  and 
aquiline  nose,  and  a  somewhat  projecting  chin.  She  was 
not  handsome,  yet  there  was  a  piquancy  about  her;  and  her 
dress,  which  was  fashionable  and  elegant,  accorded  extremely 
well  with  her  sprightly  little  figure. 

Bear  and  she  shook  hands  in  the  most  friendly  manner, 
and  her  quick  eyes  were  immediately  directed  to  me.  Bear 
made  a  movement  to  introduce  us  to  each  other,  but  just  at 
that  moment  Ma  chere  mere  came  up,  turned  me  round  and 
led  me  to  the  piano,  insisting  upon  it  that  I  should  play 
and  sing  something  to  the  company.  When  I  had  fulfilled 
this  duty,  the  lively  little  lady  came  and  seated  herself  near 
me,  looked  penetratingly  at  me,  yet  in  the  manner  of  a 
friendly  old  acquaintance,  and  asked  how  long  I  had  been  in 
this  place,  and  whether  I  did  not  find  the  people  here  "  hor« 
ribly  behindhand  in  comparison  with  those  of  Stockholm.** 


FBAI^SISKA  WERNER  TO  MARIA  M. 


89 


When  I  had  gaily  answered  her,  she  said,  looking  con- 
tinually at  me  with  a  searching  glance,  "  you  are  very  like 
your  mother ! — a  superior  woman — I  often  used  to  see  her^ 
and  know^  you  very  well,  Madame  Werner,  although  I  have 
not  seen  you  before." 

I  looked  at  her  inquiringly,  and  the  question  was  on  my 
lips,  "  With  w^hom  have  I  the  honour,  etc. but  she  was 
beforehand  with  me,  and  asked  w^hether  I  had  already  seen 
many  of  my  neighbours  ?  I  answered  that  at  that  very 
time  we  were  on  our  way  to  make  visits. 

"Indeed!"  said  she;  "but  you  will  become  acquainted 
with  a  variety  of  curious  personages  !  Some  of  a  water- 
porridge,  some  of  a  horse-radish  kind !  it  would  be  a  pity  if 
you  had  not  a  preparatory  knowledge  of  that  which  you  will 
meet  with.  When  you  come  for  instance  to  the  von  P.'s, 
the  new  nobility  at  Holma,  you  must  talk  of  accomplishment 
and  the  fine  arts,  and  be  heedful  to  mention  en  passant  your 
genteel  acquaintance — that  is,  if  you  wish  to  stand  well  with 
the  von  P.'s.  Have  you  ever  had  the  experience  of  feeling, 
after  you  have  been  a  few  hours  w-ith  some  people,  as  if  you 
were  soaked  with  w^ater,  or  had  all  the  new  wine  of  life 
pressed  out  of  you,  as  one  may  say  ?" 

"  O  yes  1"  I  replied,  laughing. 

"  Just  observe  then  how  you  feelw'hen  you  come  from  the 
von  P.'s,"  said  she.  "  But  don't  you  talk  of  art  with  Major 
Stalmark,  of  Adamsro,  that  is  if  you  care  to  stand  well 
there.  Nature,  freedom,  simplicity,  are  the  w^atchwords 
there.  My  good  friend,  the  Major's  lady,  w^ill  talk  of  nothing 
but  servants  and  housewifery;  with  the  Major  it  is  all  sound 
reason  and  vigorous  strength.  I  shall  be  rather  anxious  to 
know  whether  you  find  yourself  really  refreshed  thereby, 
for  there  are  tribunals  of  strength  which  are  not,  after  all, 
strengthening.  But  take  heed  that  the  young  Adamites 
do  not  play  you  some  unparadisiacal  prank  or  other ;  I  fancy 
the  old  ones  are  to  be  found  in  the  stable." 

"  And  as  a  good  friend,"  continued  she,  "  I  counsel  you 
further  not  to  pass  by  the  old  maiden  Hellevi  Husgafvel,  who 
has  her  Bird's  Nest  not  far  from  the  city,  or  she  w^ould  take 
it  amiss.  With  her  angular  figure  and  her  keen  tongue,  she 
will  remind  you,  at  one  and  the  same  time,  of  a  woodpeckcJ 
and  of  gingerbread — but  perhaps  you  already  know  her  ?" 


40 


THE  NEIGHBOUHS. 


"No,"  replied  I,  "but  I  have  heard  that  there  is  some* 
fching  about  her  both  laughable  and  malicious." 

"  Laughable,  malicious  !"  repeated  my  neighbour,  hesi- 
tatingly ;  "  hm — Grod  knows  if  that  be  not  saying  rather  too 
much !  Malicious !  she  speaks  out  her  opinion  of  people 
tolerably  freely,  but  she  does  that  openly,  and  not  to  the 
disparagement  of  any  one.  Ridiculous !  why  yes,  that  may 
be  true — she  has  her  infirmities,  as  much  and  perhaps  even 
more  than  others.  But  my  simile  you  will  certainly  find,  at 
all  events,  very  striking." 

"  I  should  like  to  know,"  said  I,  amused  by  her  observa- 
tions, w^hich  sounded  much  less  malicious  when  spoken  than 
they  do  on  paper,  "  I  should  like  to  know  what  you  would 
say  of  me  and  my  husband,  and  to  what  you  would  compare 
us." 

"  "Who,"  said  she,  "  can  look  on  the  good  Doctor  Werner 
without  thinking  of  plum-pudding,  and  you,  my  good  lady, ' 
are  a  hot  sweet  sauce  thereto,  without  which  it  would  not 
be  half  so  savoury.  But  what  I  would  add  further  regard- 
ing your  future  acquaintance  is,  that  you  will  never  know 
what  is  really  venerable  till  you  have  seen  the  old  Dahls ; 
and  you  can  gain  no  clear  idea  of  amiability  before  you  have 
seen  their  granddaughter  Serena,  the  flower  of  the  dale,  as 
she  is  called  in  a  double  sense." 

"  Serena !"  repeated  I,  "  that  is  a  strange  name." 

"  You  will  not  think  so  when  you  have  seen  her,"  replied 
she  ;  "  it  seems  as  if  the  Almighty  himself  had  baptized  her. 
But  now  I  must  leave  you,  and  go  farther;  and  if  after  this  con- 
versation you  should  say  that  I  am  either  mad  or  ill-natured, 
I  shall  not  mind  it.  I  can  tolerate  you  in  any  case,  and  I 
hope  to  see  you  soon  again." 

With  this  she  pressed  my  hand  most  warmly,  stood  up 
and  took  a  hasty  leave  of  all.  As  he  left  the  room  I  per- 
ceived that  she  was  slightly  crooked,  and  that  she  took  no 
care  to  conceal  it. 

"  Who  is  she?  who  is  she?"  I  asked,  when  she  had  left 
the  room. 

"  What,  Fransiska!"  said  Ma  chere  mere,  "don't  you 
know  Miss  Hellevi  Husgafvel  ?  Now  I  have  done  a  stupid 
fching  not  to  introduce  you  to  each  otlier  !" 

I  stood  as  if  a  thunderbolt  had  struck  me.    "  Miss  Hcllevi 


PEANSISKA  WEENEB  TO  MAllIA  M. 


41 


Husgafvel!"  exclaimed  I  at  last;  "but  Miss  Husgafvel  ia 
old!" 

"  That  is  her  own  history,"  returned  Ma  chere  mere  ;  "  she 
/las  her  own  peculiar  oddities,  and  is  at  as  much  trouble  to 
make  out  that  she  is  old,  as  other  people  that  they  are  young. 
1,  for  my  part,  do  not  think  much  about  her  '  Bird's  Nest,' 
\)ecause  I  understand  nothing  about  all  the  snails  and  worms 
and  sponges  that  she  has  collected  there ;  but  she  herself  is 
a  witty  and  estimable  person,  whom  I  like  very  much." 

"  But  whatever  will  she  think  of  me!"  thought  I,  em- 
barrassed by  my  want  of  circumspection,  as  I  went  back 
with  Bear  to  the  cabriolet.  My  bonnet  had  made  no  great 
figure — and  what  stupidity  I  had  been  guilty  of\  The 
beginning  of  our  journey  was  not  brilliant. 

"  Bah!"  said  I,  comforting  myself,  "Miss  Husgafvel  is  a 
reasonable  person.  I  have  not  after  all  been  so  very  stupid, 
and  we  can  soon  set  all  right  again."  La  Bruyere  says  truly, 
"  Le  sot  ne  se  retire  jamais  du  ridicule.  C'est  son  caractere ; 
Ton  y  entre  quelquefois  avec  de  1' esprit  mais  Ton  en  sort." 
And  so  the  cabriolet  rolled  on  merrily  towards  Adamsro,  the 
abode  of  Major  Stalmark. 

On  the  edge  of  the  estate  we  met  a  young  girl  of  perhaps 
fourteen  years  old,  riding  without  saddle  on  a  pony  ;  her 
hair  was  of  a  reddish  colour,  and,  together  with  her  dress, 
was  in  a  state  of  the  greatest  disorder. 

"  Good-day,  Miss  Malla!"  exclaimed  Bear  to  the  young 
Amazon  ;  "  are  your  father  and  mother  at  home  ?" 

"Yes,"  answered  she;  "I  am  riding  Putte  to  pasture." 
She  rode  on  and  we  drove  forward. 

"  Bless  my  heart !  can  that  be  a  young  lady  ?"  exclaimed  I. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Bear,  laconically. 

We  arrived  at  the  house.  There  was  a  prodigious  com- 
motion there.  Three  young  men  in  hunting  dresses  were 
lounging  about  with  at  least  a  half-score  of  dogs  at  their 
/leels.  No  sooner  had  Bear  and  his  Bearess  made  their  ap- 
pearance than  the  whole  barking  company  assailed  our 
innocent  equipage,  but  were  called  off  by  the  young  men, 
much  to  the  advantage  of  mine  and  the  horse's  heroism,  and 
the  lively  but  unharmonious  choir  betook  themselves  to  a 
distance. 

This  place  must  be  called  Adams-unrest,  thought  1 13  my 


12 


THE  NEIGHBOUES. 


self.  As  I  went  through  the  entrance-hall  something  conJng 
between  my  feet  had  nearly  thrown  me  down.  I  perceived 
that  it  was  a  piece  of  wood,  and  looking  round  I  soon  dis- 
covered two  sly,  young,  grinning  figures 'in  one  corner,  who 
w^ere  preparing  to  bombard  anew  the  peaceable  guests.  I 
threatened  them  with  the  piece  of  wood,  and  had  a  great 
inclination  to  make  the  wild  young  things  nearer  acquainted 
with  it.  But  Bear,  who  was  already  within  the  ante-room, 
called  me,  and  I  followed  in  great  haste,  that  I  might  escape 
a  something,  Grod  knows  what !  which  came  with  a  great 
rustling  close  to  my  heels.  I  was  angry,  and  yet  compelled 
to  laugh.  Bear  was  quite  enraged  when  he  heard  what  I  had 
encountered.  Bear  opened  again  the  door  of  the  ante-room, 
shook  his  fist  at  the  Adamites,  and  promised  them  a  troun- 
cing if  they  did  not  let  strangers  alone.  We  waited  till  we 
had  composed  ourselves — he,  till  he  had  grumbled  himself' 
quiet,  and  I,  till  I  had  satisfied  myself  with  laughing ;  and 
then  entering  the  room,  which  was  handsome,  we  en- 
countered two  persons,  whose  appearance  indicated  the  pos- 
session of  a  certain  rank  and  wealth  ; — I  might  call  this  ap- 
pearance reputable.  These  were  the  Major  and  his  lady  :  he 
an  elderly  though  still  good-lo  >king  man,  of  excellent  gentle- 
manly demeanour;  she,  very  stout,  still  young,  but  not 
-  handsome,  but  with  a  something  open  and  honest  in  her 
exterior. 

Bear  presented  "  my  wife,"  and  "  my  wife"  was  received  as 
cordially  as  my  Bear  himself. 

The  gentlemen  walked  up  and  down  the  room  and  gossiped 
together;  the  ladies  seated  themselves  side  by  side  on  the 
sofa,  to  make  nearer  acquaintance.  The  lady  looked  at  me, 
and  I  at  her.  Tier  countenance  seemed  to  me  familiar,  and 
still  more  so  seemed  her  voice ;  the  latter,  which  had  a 
Finnish  accent,  seemed  to  make  an  especial  impression  upon 
me.  I  could  not  take  my  eyes  from  her ;  I  saw  a  little  scar 
upon  her  neck,  and — all  at  once  returned  a  little  episode  in 
my  far-passed  life.  I  must  take  a  review  of  this,  in  order 
that  you  may  understand  that  which  follows. 

In  the  first  place  then,  you  must  accompany  me  to  my 
hero  deeds  in  the  Gymnastic  Hall ;  accompany  me  to  that 
time  when  I  was  yet  very  young,  when  the  blood  did  not  flow 
so  quietly  as  now  in  my  veins, — although  Bear  asserts  that 


FEANSISKA  WERNER  TO  MARIA  M. 


43 


witlioiit  mischief  it  might  flow  yet  more  quietly, — to  a  time 
in  which  I  became  heartily  weary  of  seeing  always  the  same 
sun  and  the  same  faces  before  me ;  when  I  must  have  ad- 
ventures, let  it  cost  what  it  would;  when  a  sedition  or  a 
conflagration  were  a  recreation  ;  when  the  battle  of  Prague 
and  the  battle  of  Fleury  were  my  favourite  pieces  of  music  ; 
when  I  wept  that  I  was  not  a  man  that  I  might  go  to  the 
war ;  and  when  once,  in  a  sort  of  necessity  to  enjoy  an 
excess,  I  drank  at  Kammerer  Arbells  five  cups  of  weak  tea 
at  one  time,  and  the  lady  of  the  house,  in  a  kind  of  frenzy  of 
benevolence,  would  yet  afflict  me  with  a  sixth. 

I  was  then  sixteen  years  old;  and  fortunately  for  my  rest- 
less spirit,  about  this  period  my  right  shoulder  began  to  grow 
out.  Gymnastics  were  at  that  time  the  fashion  as  a  cure  for 
eveiy  description  of  physical  ailment,  and  my  parents  de- 
termined that  I  should  gymnasticize.  Dressed,  therefore,  in 
ornamental  pantaloons  and  a  bon-jour  coat  of  green  cloth, 
and  on  my  head  a  net-lace  cap,  trimmed  with  pink  ribbons,  I 
went  one  fine  day  into  an  assembly  of  from  thirty  to  forty 
figures  dressed  sometliing  like  myself,  who  rioted  merrily 
about  in  a  great  hall  full  of  ropes,  ladders,  and  poles.  It  was 
a  singular  and  wonderful  scene.  Por  the  first  day  I  remained 
quiet,  learning  merely  from  a  teacher  the  bending  of  the  back 
and  the  motion  of  the  hands  and  feet ;  on  the  second  day  I 
struck  up  a  warm  friendship  with  some  of  the  girls ;  on  the 
third,  emulated  them  on  ropes  and  poles,  and  before  the  end 
of  the  second  week  was  at  the  head  of  the  second  class,  and 
began  to  invite  them  on  to  all  kinds  of  undertakings. 

I  was  reading  at  that  time  the  Grecian  history,  and,  even 
in  the  Gymnastic  Hall,  Grecian  heroes  and  their  deeds  floated 
around  me.  I  suggested  to  my  class,  therefore,  that  we 
should  all  assume  masculine  and  antique  names,  and  that 
from  this  time  we  should  only  be  known  in  this  place  by  such 
names  as  Agamemnon,  Eparainondas,  Pelopidas,  etc.  Por 
myself  I  chose  the  name  of  Orestes,  and  gave  that  of  Pylades 
to  my  best  friend.  There  was  one  tall  thin  girl  with  a 
broad  Pinnish  accent,  who  on  account  of  the  bold,  independ- 
ence of  my  ideas  and  behaviour  was  always  opposed  to  me, 
whom  it  pleased  to  make  merry  over  our  change  of  names,  and 
who  laughing,  called  me  and  my  friend,  Orre  and  Pylle,  be- 
cause we  were  both  small.     This  annoyed  me  extremely 


THE  1TEI0HBOURS. 


especially  as  it  damped  the  Grecian  spirit  which  I  had  in« 
fused  through  the  whole  troop. 

My  tall  enemy  declared  that  she  would  be  called  by  no 
other  than  her  proper  name  of  Brita  Kajsa,  yet  for  all  that, 
I  persisted  in  giving  her  the  name  of  Darius.  Besides  this 
there  arose  a  new  occasion  of  strife. 

Although  I  was  so  very  enthusiastic  for  Grecian  history, 
I  was  no  less  a  partisan  for  that  of  Sweden.  Charles  XII. 
was  my  idol ;  and  many  a  time  have  I  entertained  my  frienda 
with  the  relation  of  his  actions,  never  failing  to  kindle  up  in 
myself  the  most  burning  enthusiasm.  One  day,  however, 
Darius  came  over  us  like  a  shower  of  cold  water,  opposing  me 
with  the  assertion  that  Czar  Peter  I.  was  a  greater  man  than 
Charles  XII.  I  received  the  challenge  with  blind  zeal  and 
quiet  rage,  and  then  my  enemy  with  great  coolness  and  a 
good  deal  of  knowledge,  brought  forward  a  multitude  of  facts 
in  support  of  her  assertion.  I  endeavoured  to  tread  these 
all  under  foot,  and  still  to  exalt  my  hero  to  heaven ;  but  had, 
alas !  those  unfortunate  words  Pultawa  and  Bender  for  ever 
thrown  in  my  way ! 

O  Pultawa,  Pultawa!  many  tears  have  flowed  over  thy 
bloody  field,  yet  none  more  bitter  than  those  which  I  shed 
in  secret,  as  I,  like  Charles  himself,  received  there  an  over- 
throw !  Those  tears  were  full  of  agony,  which  I  now  cannot 
comprehend.  I  really  hated  my  enemy.  I  hated  her  as 
much  as  Czar  Peter  himself,  and  the  people  whose  lord  he 
had  been ! 

One  spark  only  was  needed  to  make  the  flame  break  forth, 
and  that  spark  came.  There  was  a  young,  pretty,  lame  girl, 
whose  masculine  dress  failed  to  make  her  less  feminine  and 
bashful  than  at  first ;  my  chivalric  spirit  was  excited  in  her 
behalf,  and  I  declared  myself  her  knight.  One  day,  as  I  was 
just  about  to  declaim  a  verse  of  E^acine's,  the  detestable 
Darius  suddenly  started  up  beside  me,  and  said  jeeringiy, 
"  I  am  thy  rival!"  I  threw  an  annihilating  glance  on  my 
rival,  and  said  scornfully,  "  Keep  to  your  needle,  Brita 
Kajsa !" 

This  provoked  her;  she  reddened,  and  my  party  broke  out 
into  a  roar  of  laughter.  The  next  moment,  as  I  sate  upon 
fclie  upper  steps  of  a  ladder  looking  down  on  tlie  swarming 
crowd  be.Dw,  I  felt  myself  suddenly  seized  by  the  foot  by  a 


rRANSlSKA  WEENER  TO  MARIA  M. 


45 


Btrong  hand.  It  was  mj  tall  enemy,  who,  stretching  forth 
her  arm,  held  me  fast  while  she  exclaimed  in  scorn,  "  Holhih, 
above  there !  help  yourself  now  like  an  Orestes,  or  remain 
sitting  grinning  there  like  an  Orre  !"* 

What  Orestes  really  would  have  done  in  my  situation  1 
know  not ;  but  my  anger,  my  cries,  and  my  grimaces,  were 
probably  much  more  like  those  of  a  bird  caught  in  a  springe 
than  of  a  captive  hero,  for  an  indescribable  laughter  rang  all 
round,  and  excited  me  to  perfect  frenzy.  I  called  with  a 
loud  voice  upon  Pylades,  bidding  him  to  fly  to  my  rescue  ; 
but  Pylades  looked  very  much  like  a  poltroon,  and  addressed 
only  a  few  remonstrances  to  my  enemy,  which  were  without 
effect. 

"  I  call  you  out!  I  demand  satisfaction  !"  screamed  I  to 
-Darius  below,  who  only  laughed  and  said,  "Bravo,  Orre! 
bravo !  See  !  just  so  held  Czar  Peter  the  great  Charles  XII. 
fast  at  Bender !" 

I  was  just  about  to  do  some  desperate  deed  when  one  of 
the  teachers  entered,  freed  me,  and  put  a  sudden  end  to  this 
scene.  I  was,  however,  full  of  fuming  bitterness,  and  going 
up  to  Pylades,  said,  "  Tou  have  behaved  like  a  poor  creature, 
Pylades  !  Follow  me  this  moment ;  I  will  go  and  challenge 
this  great  braggadocio  who  has  affronted  me.  Tou  shall  be 
my  second." 

Pylades  looked  like  a  terrified  hare,  yet  did  not  dare  to 
refuse. 

I  sought  out  Darius,  who  with  an  assumed  air  of  indif- 
ference stood  leaning  against  a  wall,  humming  a  tune  to  her- 
self, and  stepping  up,  said  with  contracted  eyebrows,  "  What 
meant  you  just  now  ?" 

"  What  did  I  mean  ?"  returned  she,  measuring  me  with  a 
proud  glance,  "why,  exactly  what  I  said  !" 

"  Then  I  have  a  word  to  say  to  you,"  answered  I,  grimly. 
"Tou  have  affronted  me  in  an  unworthy  manner,  and  I  de- 
mand that  in  the  presence  of  the  whole  assembly  you  beg  my 
pardon,  and  declare  Charles  XII.  to  be  a  greater  man  than 
Czar  Peter :  otherwise  you  must  fight  with  me,  if  there  be 
honour  in  you,  and  you  be  no  coward !" 

"Ask  pardon?"  returned  Brita  Kajsa,  reddening,  yet 
with  detestable  coolness,  "no,  that  does  not  become  me? 
•  Orre  in  Swedish  signifies  a  cock  of  the  wood. 


4G 


THE  NEiaHBOURS. 


Fight  ?  Well,  yes !  but  where,  and  with  what  ? — ^with  needles, 
or  " 

"  With  swords!"  returned  I,  with  real  pride,  "if  jou  are 
not  a  coward — and  here !  We  can  come  half  an  hour  before 
the  others ;  the  weapons  I  will  bring  with  me  ;  Pylades  is 
my  second — choose  one  for  yourself!"  I  said  this  with 
great  pride. 

"  I  shall  not  trouble  myself  about  that,"  replied  Brita 
Kajsa  with  intolerable  insolence ;  "I  myself  am  enough  for 
you  two !" 

"  But  you  shall  have  a  second !"  exclaimed  I,  stamping 
with  my  small  foot ;  "  that  is  the  rule  !" 

"  Well  then,  G-ronvall,  come  here,"  said  Brita  Kajsa. 

Elizabeth  Grronvall  was  another  tall  girl,  clumsy  and 
stupid,  with  a  hanging  lip  ;  and  was  called  by  me,  jestingly, 
Nestor.  She  came,  and  listened  to  the  relation  of  what 
was  to  take  place,  and  then  with  an  important  air  declared 
herself  ready  to  be  second  to  my  enemy. 

"  To-morrow  morning  at  nine  o'clock,"  said  I,  turning 
away. 

"  At  nine  o'clock !"  repeated  Brita  Kajsa  with  a  laugh  of 
scorn. 

I  busied  myself  on  our  homeward  way  to  instil  courage 
into  Pylades,  and  to  silence  his  tongue  both  by  good  words 
iSLui  threats.  Pylades,  who  really  loved  me,  promised,  after 
many  remonstrances,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  to  be  silent  and 
to  remain  true  to  me  to  the  death. 

My  blood  was  hotly  boiling,  yet  I  must  confess  that  after 
I  was  in  bed,  and  all  was  still  around  me,  a  certain  astonish- 
ment and  a  little  shudder  came  over  me  on  account  of  the 
deed  I  was  about  to  perform.  But  to  recant ;  to  leave 
Charles  XII.  in  the  lurch,  and  my  own  honour  unavenged ; 
to  deserve  the  scorn  and  the  continued  persecution  of  my 
enemy — no,  far  better  die  than  do  that!  But  then  I 
thought  on  the  words  of  the  Commandments ;  on  my  parents, 
how  they  would  weep  if  I  died.  My  enemy,  too,  stood 
before  me  strong  and  cruel  as  Czar  Peter,  and  I — ah !  I 
knew  too  well — was  no  Charles  XII.  As  I  thought  on  the 
tears  of  my  parents  I  began  to  weep  bitterly,  and  in  weep- 
ing dropped  asleep. 

Next  morning  when  I  woke  it  was  clear  day,  and  the  clock 


I'RA^^SESKA  WEllNER  TO  MARTA  M» 


47 


struck  half-past  eight.  I  had  nearly  slept  away  the  duel, 
and  while  I  rubbed  the  sleep  out  of  my  eyes  it  was  to  me 
as  if  somebody  had  blown  into  my  ears  with  a  trumpet  the 
words  "  at  nine  o'clock!"  I  started  up.  The  combat  stood 
distinct  before  my  memory.  In  five  minutes  I  was  dressed. 
I  seized  two  small  swords,  of  which  the  evening  before  I  had 
possessed  myself  from  the  room  of  my  absent  brother; 
when  at  that  moment  it  suddenly  occured  to  me  that  I  must 
write  a  few  lines  for  my  parents,  in  case  I  was  killed  in  the 
combat ;  accordingly  I  wrote  with  pencil  on  a  piece  of  paper: 

"  Beloved  Parents, 

"  When  these  lines  meet  your  eyes  "    Despair  ! 

already  the  clock  strikes  a  quarter  to  nine — I  should  be  too 
late  if  I  delayed  longer.  I  hastily  threw  the  letter  I  haa 
begun  into  my  drawer  ;  threw  myself,  like  Caesar,  into  the 
arms  of  fortune ;  and  betook  me,  with  the  two  swords  under 
my  cloak,  to  the  Grymnasium. 

You  may  easily  imagine  that  I  possessed  no  knowledge  of 
the  art  of  fighting ;  but  that  did  not  trouble  me  much.  To 
make  a  straightforward  attack  seemed  to  me  as  easy  as 
simple,  and  that  was  the  mode  I  meant  to  adopt :  for  the 
rest,  I  remember,  that  on  my  way  to  the  scene  of  combat,  I 
thought  as  little  as  possible.  When  I  came  into  the  great 
hall  I  found  my  enemy  and  her  second  arrived  there  before 
me.  Py lades  was  nowhere  to  be  seen,  and  in  secret  I  could 
not  help  cursing  him.  Darius  and  I  greeted  each  other 
proudly  and  scarcely  perceptibly.  I  handed  to  him  the 
swords  that  he  might  make  his  choice.  He  selected  one, 
which  he  handled  as  easily  and  skilfully  as  if  he  had  been 
accustomed  to  such  toys  all  the  days  of  his  life.  I  felt 
myself  already  bored  through. 

Presently  came  Pylades,  pale  and  full  of  anxiety.  I  cast 
an  enraged  glance  on  him,  and  closed  the  door. 

You  will  probably  have  observed,  best  Maria,  that  I  call 
and  speak  of  the  same  person  as  he  and  she,  but  this  con- 
fusion is  not  without  design ;  it  characterises  not  only  the 
whole  scene,  but  the  confusion  which  governed  my  brain. 

"  In  Heaven's  name,  do  not  kill  one  another  !"  exclaimed 
the  poor  Pylades.    "  It's  all  madness  !" 

"  Silence!"  screamed  I,  in  anger,  and  turning  to  Dariuii 


48 


THE  KEiaHBOrES. 


said,  "  Do  you  still  persevere  in  maintaking  your  error,  ana 
refusing  to  ask  my  pardon  ?" 

"  I  persevere  replied  Darius,  witli  unexampled  com- 
posure, trying  at  the  same  time  the  temper  of  his  weapon 
by  bending  it  against  the  floor :  "  Czar  Peter  was  a  great 
man 

"Death  to  him!  long  life  to  Charles  XII. !"  cried  I, 
drawing  at  once,  and  setting  myself  in  a  position.  Darius 
did  the  same. 

"  Wait !  wait!"  cried  Pylades,  full  of  anxiety ;  "  wait,  T 
must  give  the  signal !" 

"  Give  it  then  quickly,"  said  I. 

"  Wait !  wait !  I  have  thought  of  something,"  stammered 
out  poor  little  Pylades ;  "  wait  !" 

"  I  will  not  wait !"  cried  I.  "  Eussian  friend,"  said  I, 
addressing  Darius,  "  I  count  three,  and  then  we  strike  1 
One  !  two !  three  !" 

Our  swords  struck ;  and  the  same  moment  I  was  disarmed, 
and  lay  overthrown  on  the  ground.  Darius  stood  over  me, 
and  I  believed  my  last  moment  was  come.  But  how 
astonished  was  I  as  my  enemy  threw  away  her  sword,  and 
taking  me  by  the  hand  lifted  me  up,  saying  at  the  same  time 
cheerfully,  "  JSTow  that  you  have  had  satisfaction,  let  us  be 
good  friends.    You  are  a  brave  little  being  !" 

Pylades  lay  on  her  knees,  nearly  fallen  into  a  swoon  ; 
Nestor  sate  upon  a  ladder,  and  cried  with  all  her  might.  I 
knew  not  what  to  think,  and  stared  at  my  late  enemy,  on 
whose  neck  a  wound  was  bleeding  freely.  "  You  bleed  1"  I 
exclaimed ;  "  I  have  killed  you !" 

"  Ah,  bah !  it's  only  a  little  scratch  that  will  soon  be 
well,"  said  she:  "for  the  rest,  I  must  tell  you  that  I  like 

the  Eussians  just  as  little  as  you  do;  I  said  so,  only  " 

she  turned  pale,  staggered,  and  required  a  seat. 

"  What  have  I  done  !  unfortunate  that  I  am  !"  cried  I  in 
agony,  almost  out  of  my  senses,  and  threw  myself  on  the 
ground  before  her.    "  Porgive,  oh  forgive  me  !" 

At  that  moment  a  terrible  alarm  sounded  at  the  door ; 
Pylades  slipped  aside  and  opened  it,  when  in  rushed  tlie 
fencing-master  and  three  teachers.  The  next  moment  1  lost 
all  consciousness. 

It  was  not  till  some  weeks  afterwards  that  I  learned  wc 


fea"N"sise:a  werner  to  maria  m. 


49 


had  been  betrayed  by  Pylades,  wlio  had  written  to  one  of 
t'le  teachers  praying  her  to  prevent  my  foolish  intentions. 
The  letter,  however,  came  too  late  for  that  purpose,  and  thus 
the  affair  was  over  as  they  entered. 

Brita  Kajsa — for  from  this  timxe  I  christened  nobody  with 
new  names — recovered  from  her  wound  in  a  short  time, 
whilst  I  lay  dangerously  ill  above  a  quarter  of  a  year.  Thia 
sickness,  however,  was  beneficial  to  me,  for  it  calmed  my 
impetuous  temperament. 

On  my  recovery  I  learned  that  Erita  Kajsa  had  removed 
with  her  parents  to  their  own  dwelling  in  Finland ;  that  she 
had  visited  me  frequently  in  my  illness,  and  had  expressed 
her  regret  that  they  must  leave  Sweden  before  I  had  reco- 
vered, so  that  we  could  be  fully  reconciled  with  each  other. 
I  also  was  grieved  not  to  have  said  one  kindly  word  to  her 
at  parting.  But,  my  violent  sickness,  during  which  I  was 
almost  constantly  delirious,  had  weakened  old  impressions ; 
and  then  followed  a  variety  of  sorrowful  causes,  such  as 
death,  adversity,  the  having  to  earn  my  own  bread,  and  much 
more  which  afflicted  me,  but  which  operated  beneficially  on 
my  disposition.  I  forgot  the  past — therefore  enough  of  it,  — 
and  now  to  the  present. 

Twelve  years  were  passed  since  then  ;  I  had  quite  forgotten 
the  countenance  of  my  former  enemy.  I  had  forgotten  my 
early  bravery  ;  I  was  become  a  grown  woman,  and  knew  how 
to  appreciate  Czar  Peter,  and  to  wish  well  to  every  one, 
even  to  the  Russians.  I  had  become  the  good  wife  of  Lars 
Anders  Werner,  and  now  went  out  with  him  in  the  cabriolet 
to  make  visits  as  well-behaved  and  quiet  as  any  Mistress 
Prudentia  whatever ! 

Well  now,  Maria!  the  Major's  lady  on  whose  sofa  I  now 
sate,  the  stout  gentlewoman  with  the  open  pleasant  counte- 
nance that  struck  me  at  once  as  so  familiar,  yet  unfamiliar, 
who  was  she  but  my  former  thin  enemy  of  the  Gymnastic 
Hall,  Darius,  Czar  Peter,  in  one  word,  Brita  Kajsa !  Her 
voice  and  the  scar  on  her  neck  made  me  at  once  perfectly 
recognise  her.  I  cannot  tell  you  how  much  I  was  excited.  1 
felt  embarrassed,  affected,  but  still  more  filled  with  merri- 
ment, which  prompted  me  to  break  into  exclamations  and 
laughter.  The  spirit  of  joke  and  mischief  got  the  mastery  of 
me,  and  takirg  up  a  knitting-needle  which  lay  before  mo  on 

3» 


50 


THE  NEiaHBOURS. 


the  table,  T  put  myself  in  a  martial  attitude  before  her,  and 
exclaimed,  "Long  live  Charles  XII.!  We  strike!  One! 
two!  three!" 

The  lady  looked  at  me  a  moment,  as  if  she  thought  I  must 
be  gone  mad,  and  then  exclaimed  herself  the  next  moment, 
"  Czar  Peter  was  a  great  man !"  seized  another  needle,  and 
opposed  herself  to  me.  On  this,  we  dropped  the  needles  at 
once,  and,  laughing,  embraced  each  other. 

Imagine  to  yourself — but  I  defy  you  to  imagine  the  amaze- 
ment which  this  scene  occasioned  to  Bear  and  the  Major; 
but  of  all  the  questionings,  the  exclamations,  the  explana- 
tions, the  astonishment,  and  the  laughter  that  succeeded,  you 
may  easily  imagine. 

Brita  Kajsa  and  I  contemplated  each  other  anew.  "  Bless 
me  !"  exclaimed  she,  "  how  old  you  are  become  since  then !" 

"  And  you  not  more  amiable,"  thought  I ;  but  I  said, 
"  You,  on  the  contrary,  are  in  appearance  much  younger !" 
which  was  true  ;  the  fair  fat  lady  was  much  handsomer  than 
the  dark  thin  girl. 

After  we  were  satisfied  with  narrating,  wondering,  and 
laughing,  we  came  to  speak  of  the  pleasures  and  follies  of 
childhood  in  general.  The  gentlemen  grew  very  lively  over 
the  histories  of  their  wickedness  and  their  adventures,  and 
Brita  Kajsa  declared  that  she  had  never  been  so  happy  as  in 
the  days  of  her  childhood.  All  appeared  unanimous  in  con- 
sidering this  time  as  the  golden  age. 

"  Yes,  yes  !"  said  my  husband  at  last  with  a  sigh,  "  it  is  a 
good  time,  that  never  returns  to  us." 

"  Dearest,"  said  I,  somewhat  troubled  by  this  childhood 
enthusiasm,  "  don't  imagine  that  it  was  so  immeasurably 
good.  Is  not  childhood  to  grown  persons  like  the  landscape 
seen  in  perspective  ?  It  looks  so  beautiful  only  because  it  is 
seen  from  afar.  I  am  convinced  that  as  a  child  you  had 
many  weary  hours,  with  lessons,  reproofs,  penances,  confine- 
ment, and  many  other  such  things,  which  cannot  affect  you 
now." 

Bear  laughed. 

*^  I,  for  my  part,"  continued  I,  "  will  never  praise  the  days 
of  childhood.  To  me  this  time  was  full  of  ahs  that  I  was  not 
grown  up.  Ah,  how  charming  it  would  be  to  be  grown  up, 
and  not  be  scolded  for  tearing  my  dress !    Ah,  only  to  be 


FEANSISKA  WERNEU  TO  MARIA  M. 


51 


grown  up  and  drink  coffee  every  day  !  Ah,  how  fortunate  to 
be  grown  up  and  go  to  the  ball,  like  mamma,  in  a  gauze  dres^ 
and  with  flowers !  Ah,  that  I  were  but  grown  up,  and  might 
read  romances  !  Ah,  ah,  if  I  were  but  a  woman !  I  am  con- 
vinced that  every  child,  each  in  its  own  way,  has  similar  ahs ! 
But  grant  for  a  moment  that  sometimes  children  may  really 
be  happy,  what  after  all  is  this  happiness  ?  A  happiness 
fleeting  and  but  half  understood,  which  we  therefore  can  only 
half  enjoy.  And  when  we  at  length  reach  that  goal  of  our 
childhood's  desires — when  we  are  gi-own  up,  drink  colfee,  read 
romances,  and  go  to  balls — alas !  then  that — ah  !  has  taken 
root  in  the  heart  itself,  and  we  have  then  so  much  unrest  that 
we  may  be  able  to  enjoy  the  true  rest.  And  here  have  we 
that  much  bepraised  happiness  of  childhood  and  youth." 

"  E-eally  there  is  great  truth  in  what  Madame  Werner  has 
said,"  remarked  the  Major,  gravely;  "and  every  period  oi 
life,  indeed,  has  its  difficulties.  That  was  cursedly  well  said, 
that  about  the  perspective — yes,  yes,  it  is  true." 

"  And  so  you  did  not  enjoy  your  early  youth,  Fransiska," 
said  Bear,  looking  at  me  half  surprised  and  half  grie>^ed. 

"  No,  in  truth,  I  did  not,"  returned  I :  "I  was  much  too 
unquiet  and  unreasonable  for  it  to  be  happy,  and  without 
quiet  and  without  reason  there  can  be  no  true  happiness." 

"  Very  good,  very  good,"  said  the  Major. 

Tea  was  brought  in ;  and  the  young  gentlemen  came  in  at 
the  same  time,  three  brisk,  lively  young  men,  only  too 
countrified,  the  step-sons  of  Brita  Kajsa.  They  talked  oi 
hunting  and  horses,  of  hares  and  of  dogs,  from  which  subjects 
the  conversation  naturally  turned  to  the  new  neighbour  at 
Ramm.  They  said  that  he  was  an  American  ;  "  and,"  added 
one  of  the  young  men,  "  very  rich,  and  that  his  history  was 
as  strange  as  that  of  any  hero  of  romance.*' 

"  Indeed !"  said  the  step-mamma,  shrugging  her  shoulders, 
"  I  am  convinced  that  he  is  very  much  like  other  people ; 
but,  dear  Robert,  you  always  exaggerate  so." 

liobert  blushed  as  if  he  had  said  something  extremely  im- 
proper. At  the  same  moment  in  rushed  the  young  Adamite 
swarm,  just  like  so  many  gadflies ;  threw  themselves  down 
to  the  tea-table,  and  endeavoured  to  possess  themselves  of  all 
that  was  eatable.  The  mamma  endeavoured  to  obtain  quiet 
by  a  lecture  on  good  behaviour ;  but  the  little  monsters 

D  2 


52 


THE  NEIGHBOURS. 


troubled  themselves  not  on  this  account,  nor  would  be  still 
till  their  demands  were  satisfied.  I  wished  with  ail  my  heart 
that  Bear  could  have  seen  this,  but  he  was  occupied  with  the 
gentlemen  in  another  room. 

"  One  must  not  subject  children  too  much,"  said  the 
mamma ;  "  one  must  leave  them  their  freedom ;  for  by  this 
means  they  grow  up  natural,  and  not,  like  so  many,  artificial 
and  alFected.  Have  you  seen  the  Misses  von  P.  ?"  asked 
she ;  "  heavens  !  how  ridiculous  it  is  to  see  them  sitting  in 
their  white  gloves,  with  their  screwed-up  mouths,  thinking 
themselves  so  grand  and  genteel.'' 

At  this  moment  the  door  was  pushed  open,  and  a  figure 
stepped  in  which  no  one  could  accuse  of  alfectation.  Her 
aair,  her  dress,  her  carriage,  all  seemed  to  be  made  of  windy 
weather. 

Come  here,  Mally,"  said  the  Major's  lady,  and  introduced 
to  me  this  her  step-daughter,  who  making  a  pettish,  coun- 
trified curtsey,  turned  herself  round  to  the  tea-table  as  her 
brothers  and  sisters  had  done,  where  all  three  immediately 
began  to  quarrel,  and  some  such  amiable  words  as  the  fol- 
lowing were  audible — "  Eye !  ar'n't  you  ashamed  of  your- 
self?"  "  Can't  you  let  my  biscuit  alone,  you  pig,  you  ugly, 
ill-mannered  thing  !  I'll  tell  mamma  of  you !"  And  imme- 
diately followed  a  loud  cry  of  "  Mamma  1  mamma !  mamma !" 

But  the  mamma  did  not  trouble  herself  about  them.  The 
gentle;men  came  in  ;  and  while  the  Adamites  ate  and  quar- 
relled, and  we  therefore  saw  a  chance  to  get  out  of  the  house 
with  life  and  uninjured  limbs,  we  took  our  leave  ;  Brita 
Kajsa  and  I  shaking  each  other  most  kindly  by  the  hand,  and 
exchanging  mutual  good  and  neighbourly  wishes,  I  deter* 
mined,  however,  in  my  own  mind,  not  soon  again  to  put 
myself  in  bodily  danger  from  timber  missives,  nor  of  being 
complimented  on  my  elderly  appearance.  The  Major  ac» 
companied  me  to  the  carriage — cabriolet  I  should  say — and 
appeared  to  be  greatly  pleased  with  me.  Por  myself,  I  too 
must  confess  that  the  visit  on  the  whole  had  afforded  me 
pleasure  ;  still  I  left  the  house  with  two  little  thorns  in  my 
heart.  Would  you  know  what  they  were?  The  first  of 
these  was,  that  Bear  had  declared  himself  to  have  been  so 
desperately  happy  in  childhood,  and  had  sighed  over  the 
remembrance,  as  if  the  present  were  as  heavy  as  lead 


rHAT^SISKA  WERNER  TO  MARIA  M.  5^ 

Secondly,  I  feared  I  had  talked  too  much,  and  with  too  much 
warmth,  in  a  place  w4iere  I  then  w^as  only  for  the  first  time. 
I  feared  my  husband  might  not  be  pleased  with  me,  and 
might  feel  disposed  to  set  "  very  bad,  very  bad,"  against  the 
"  very  good,  very  good,"  of  the  Major.  I  would  have  given 
my  life  just  to  have  known  w^hat  he  thought  about  it ;  but 
tlie  good  man  sate  beside  me  stock  still,  and  noticed  nothing 
but  his  reins. 

I  must  know,  thought  I  to  myself,  and  began  puzzling  my 
brain  how  I  should  introduce  the  subject,  w^hen,  just  as  I  was 
about  to  open  my  lips,  he  said,  "  I  am  sorry,  indeed,  Fanny, 
that  you  had  not  a  happy  childhood  1" 

"  But  it  makes  me  a  great  deal  more  sorry,"  said  I,  just 
ready  to  cry,  "that  youw^ere  so  terribly  happy  in  your  youth 
that  you  can  never  be  so  happy  again,  and  that  all  after- 
pleasure  must  be  heavy  in  comparison.  You  had  more 
pleasure  in  your  ball  then,  than  you  can  have  now  in  your 
wife." 

"  You  little  fool!"  said  he,  looking  at  me  with  such  an 
expression  of  astonishment  as  at  once  appeased  me,  "  you 
really  cannot  think  so  !  You  cannot  think  me  so  mad ! 
Yes,  truly  that  time  was  good,  but  this  is  far  better !" 

"  Thank  Grod!"  said  I  softly,  and  deeply  grateful. 

"  And  then,"  continued  he,  "  I  think  the  childhood  of  but 
few  is  as  happy  as  mine  was  !  "When  I  think  how  the  whole 
world  seemed  to  smile  on  me  then  ;  what  I  felt  when  I  lay, 
looking  upwards  towards  heaven  in  the  grass,  and  heard  the 
rustling  round  me  in  the  w^ood ;  when  I  think  how,  later  in 
life,  I  went  wandering  through  those  woods  about  Eamm ; 
how  everything  around  me  seemed  life  and  pleasure — then, 
Fanny,  I  may  well  wish  that  you  had  experienced  as  happy  a 
childhood  and  youth  as  I  have  done." 

"But  life.  Bear,"  replied  I,  "has  sometimes  an  after- 
summer,  like  the  year,  and  I  feel  that  mine  has  begun." 

Bear  took  my  hand  in  his,  and  pressed  it ;  not  a  word  waa 
said,  but  we  were  happy,  and  the  cabriolet  rolled  rapidly 
along  the  level  road  homew^ards. 

"  What  a  desolate  region  this  is !"  exclaimed  I,  after  a 
while,  and  surprised  by  scenery  I  was  not  familiar  with ;  "  it 
is  unlike  our  valley.  Where  are  we.  for  here  are  only  hUl 
ftnd  wood. 


54 


THE  NEIGHEOUKS. 


"  We  are  iu  the  neighbourhood  of  Eanim,"  replied  he. 
"I  have  purposely  taken  this  road,  that  you  may  see  the 
place  where  my  youth  was  passed.  Independently  of  this 
too,  both  the  house  and  park  are  worth  seeing.  I  am  glad 
that  somebody  is  coming  to  live  here  now  ;  it  is  always 
painful  to  see  a  place  desolate  where  people  might  live,  and 
wliere  life  might  be  enjoyed. 

"  But  who  could  properly  enjoy  life  here,  Bear  ?"  I  asked. 
"  All  is  here  so  black  and  dreary  !  That  long  alley  is  dark  as 
a  church-vault !  and  there  at  the  end,  is  that  the  house  r 
Ha  !  it  looks  like  an  old  castle  haunted  by  ghosts  !" 

"  And  yet,"  he  replied,  "  here  has  been  great  happiness — 
great  joy — but,"  added  he,  "it  is  true,  great  sorrow  also!" 

"  What!  has  some  misfortune  happened  here  ?"  asked  I. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  "a  misfortune — but  now  is  the  place 
overgrown!" 

Like  a  scar  over  a  closed  wound,"  said  I. 

"  True !"  replied  he  ;  "  true,  thank  God  I  It  is  a  long  time 
since  I  was  here  ;  and  now  I  hardly  know  it  again.  And 
that  house,  how  dark  it  has  become  !" 

"  I  assure  you,"  said  I,  "  it  is  haunted — I  saw  a  little  grey 
man  peeping  through  a  window." 

"  Perhaps  the  new  resident  is  already  come,"  remarked  he. 

"  If  he  be  not  more  cheerful  than  this  place,  then" — the 
cabriolet  stopped  and  we  alighted.  I  looked  up  with  a  cer- 
tain feeling  of  reverence  and  anxiety  to  the  stately  and 
gloomy  house,  which,  with  its  tall  three-storied  fa9ade  and 
black  tower,  and  its  adjoining  dark  wings,  bore  a  resemblance 
to  a  swooping  owl.  Tall  oaks  grew  around  it,  and  many  oi 
tlie  lesser  children  of  the  wood.  Service-trees,  poplars,  and 
palm-willows  thronged  round  the  walls  and  looked  in  at  thr 
windows,  like  people  crowding  to  gaze  upon  a  royal  table. 
To  the  left,  silvery  water  gleamed  out  between  the  trees — ■ 
tlie  Helga  sea,  that  water  beside  which  Bosenvik  lies  so 
pleasantly. 

In  the  middle  of  the  court,  which  was  now  completely 
overgrown  with  weeds,  an  invalided  Neptune,  standing  amid 
moss-covered  water,  told  that  in  earlier  days  there  had  once 
been  a  stately  fountain  there.  Everything  looked  desolate  and 
unhappy  ;  yet  there  was,  as  we  soon  perceived,  a  movement 
in  the  house,  though  not  of  ghosts,  as  wo  soon  discoverei 


FEANSISKA  WEHNEH  TO  MAHIA  M. 


55 


The  great  door  stood  open,  and  presently  a  workman  coming 
out,  we  learned  from  him  that  the  place  was  about  being  im- 
mediately prepared  for  the  new  resident  who  was  shortly 
expected  here. 

We  entered  ;  and  I  could  not  help  being  surprised  by  the 
size  of  the  rooms  and  the  view  from  the  other  side  of  the 
building,  and  was  almost  ready,  with  a  certain  lady,  to  ex- 
claim, "  Ah,  how  gloriously  beautiful  is  it  here  !  here  trees, 
and  there  wooers  !"  I  rejoiced  myself  in  the  free  wide 
landscape,  extending  over  woody  heights  and  surrounding 
meadows.  To  the  left  lies  the  Helga  sea ;  nay,  indeed,  it 
flows  up  to  the  very  walls,  which  are  built  upon  a  low  rocky 
point,  garlanded  as  it  were  with  alder-bushes,  while  the  water 
breaking  in  little  waves  on  the  beach  makes  delicious  music. 

In  one  of  the  handsomest  rooms  I  was  greatly  surprised 
to  find  a  magnificeni  organ,  w^iich  has  lately  been  set  up 
there. 

"  Mr.  Eomilly  is  very  fond  of  music,"  said  the  overseer  of 
the  work,  who,  with  great  politeness,  had  gone  through  the 
rooms  with  us. 

"  Of  what  country  is  he  ?"  asked  Bear. 

"  He  is  a  Portuguese,"  was  the  reply.  "  He  was  attached 
to  Don  Miguel's  party;  inherited  afterwards  the  property  of 
an  uncle  in  the  West  Indies,  and  will  now  come  and  eujoy 
his  great  wealth  in  our  country,  because  it  is  the  quietest  and 
most  secure  in  the  world." 

"By  good  luck,"  thought  I,  "we  may  next  have  Don 
Miguel  himself  for  our  neighbour  in  E^amm !" 

I  could  not  resist  trying  the  organ,  which  was  of  a  mag- 
nificent, although  somewhat  too  strong  a  tone  for  my  taste ; 
yet  at  the  same  time  it  enchanted  me,  and  I  know  not  how 
long  I  should  have  sate  before  it,  had  not  Bear  reminded  me 
that  it  was  already  evening. 

"  Now  the  only  agreeable  things  in  this  house,"  said  I, 
"  are  the  organ  and  the  prospect  towards  Eosenvik.  I  would 
not  live  here  for  all  the  wealth  in  this  world  ;  still  on  an 
autunm  evening  I  would  gladly  come  here  by  moonlight,  if 
you  would  only  come  with  me,  Bear,  and  wander  about  to  see 
whether  it  be  not  here,  as  in  old  castles  of  which  I  have  read. 
Whether  there  be  not  moving  walls,  ghost-like  shadows, 
blood-stains  which  can  never  be  effaced,  balls  of  thread  which 


56 


THE  KEIGHBOURS. 


roll  after  one's  heels,  and  at  last  transform  themselves  into 
bloody  dago^ers  here  I  suddenly  paused,  for  my  hus- 
band sighed,  and  glancing  at  him  I  saw  that  his  usually  so 
friendly,  good-natured  countenance  had  become  so  dark  that 
I  shuddered,  and  turned  round  involuntarily  to  see  whether 
a  ball  of  thread  were  not  following  us  ;  but  thank  Grod,  I  saw 
nothing ;  and  then  with  secret  haste  followed  liim  out  of  the 
house,  and  the  moment  we  descended  the  steps  a  flight  of 
jackdaws  from  the  tower  flew  over  our  heads  into  the  wood. 

And  here  it  was  so  joyful,  so  beautiful !"  sighed  Bear  ; 
"  it  was  a  home  for  youth,  for  sport,  and  life !"  he  sighed 
again. 

But  how  is  it  so  different  now?"  asked  I,  "  and  why  did 
Ma  chere  mere  leave  a  dwelling  which  is  far  finer  than 
Carlsfors,  and  which  had  once,  you  say,  far  more  lively  guests 
than  jackdaws  ?" 

"  Because,  because,"  hesitated  he,  "  she  experienced  a 
great  sorrow  here.  Do  not  speak  to  her  of  Ramm,  Fanny ; 
do  not  tell  her  that  you  have  been  here  :  another  time  I  will 
tell  you  why.  Look  at  the  park  !  This  large,  beautiful  wood, 
which  is  nearly  seven  miles  in  circumference,  is,  or  rather 
was,  a  park.  JSTow  the  paths  are  grown  up.  But  we  will 
sometimes  come  and  look  about  here." 

"  It  is  very  gloomy  here,"  said  I ;  "yet  while  I  was  even 
speaking  these  very  words,  a  ray  burst  forth  from  the  descend- 
ing sun,  and  tlirew  a  golden  glory  upon  the  dark  grey  house 
and  on  the  summit  of  the  wood.  I  do  not  know  how  it  was, 
but  at  that  moment  the  name  Serena  came  into  my  mind  as 
if  it  had  been  the  literal  signification  of  this  sunbeam.  The 
sunbeam  was  soon  swallowed  up  in  the  darkness. 

"  Thus — yes,  exactly  thus !"  said  Bear,  with  a  melancholy 
smile,  as  he  observed,  with  a  tear  in  his  eye,  the  illumined 
and  again  darkened  house. 

We  mounted  the  cabriolet  in  silence,  and  silently  drove 
towards  home.  As  we  came  into  more  cheerful  scenes  I 
seemed  to  breathe  more  freely  ;  and  as  it  seemed  to  me  at 
length  that  our  thoughts  had  dwelt  quite  long  enough  on  tlie 
old  crow's  nest,  I  raised  my  voice  and  asked,  "  Bear,  where 
does  Serena  live  ?" 

A  smile  came  over  his  face  like  sunshine  in  the  wood,  and 
he  said,  "  Yes,  she  is  lovely 


FEA^^SISKA  WEENEB  TO  MARIA  M. 


57 


"  That  I  believe,"  said  I,  "  but  where  can  one  see  her?" 

"  She  lives  in  the  city,  and  is  the  handsomest  and  best  girl 
m  the  whole  place,"  said  he. 

"  But,  Bear,"  remonstrated  I,  "  jou  have  never  spoken  to 
me  about  her." 

"  I  prefer  leaving  people  and  things,"  said  he,  "to  speak 
for  themselves.  You  shall  soon  see  her,  for  one  of  these  days 
we  will  go  and  pay  a  visit  to  the  old  Dahls." 

I  was  intending  to  ask  still  further  questions  when  a  great 
rain-drop  hit  me  upon  the  nose,  and  then  a  second,  and  then 
a  third,  till  it  was  a  perfect  shower.  We  sought  for  the 
umbrella,  but  it  had  been  forgotten,  and  now  handkerchiefs 
and  shawls  were  in  requisition  to  cover  my  bonnet.  But  ah  ! 
in  vain  ^  my  gauze  state-and-gala  bonnet  was  entirely  ruined 
before  we  reached  home !  shape,  freshness,  colour,  and 
flowers,  all  were  wet  through  and  spoiled  for  ever.  But 
the  only  dicontented  face  which  this  misfortune  occasioned 
was  Bear's. 

And  so  ended  the  first  visiting-day. 

THE  SECOND  VISITING-DAY. 

What  does  the  bird  of  passage  do  ?  He  goes  restlessly 
wandering  about  the  world,  seeking  for  a  place  where  he 
may  build  for  himself  a  home  to  dwell  in.  Tor  he  finds  no 
rest ; — and  who  indeed  does  ? — till  he  has  found  a  home,  a 
little  world  for  himself,  in  which  after  his  own  desires  he  may 
live  in  rest  and  freedom.  And  w^hen  he  has  found  a  spot  or  a 
tree  in  which  he  will  abide,  then  carries  he  together  leaves 
and  wool  and  straw,  and  builds  for  himself  a  home.  There 
he  can  rest,  sit  up  aloft  in  his  nest,  look  out  on  the  world 
below,  and  sing.    And  so  till  the  next  time  of  his  wandering. 

And  now,  after  this  little  preface,  I  shall  conduct  you  to 
the  Bird's  Nest  of  Miss  Hellevi  Husgafvel.  As  I  ascended 
She  steps  to  the  door,  I  must  confess  that  my  heart  was  not 
as  light  as  a  feather,  for  the  words  "  malicious  and  ridiculous  " 
^ay  heavy  on  my  conscience ;  but  from  the  topmost  step 
down  flew  Miss  Husgafvel  to  meet  me,  embraced  me  with 
smiles,  and  I  on  my  part  heartily  returned  her  embrace, 
thinking  with  myself,  "  Miss  Husgafvel  is  a  sensible  person  ^" 
in  which  opinion  T  was  only  the  more  decided  tl  e  more  1 
JoDked  about  her  Bird's  Nest 


58 


THE  NEIGHBOIJRS. 


The  neat  little  house  was  a  perfect  little  museum.  Excel- 
lent copper-plate  engravings,  and  paintings  by  good  masters, 
ornamented  the  walls  ;  beautiM  busts  in  bronze  and  plaster 
of  Paris  were  tastefully  arranged  about.  One  was  delighted 
to  find  one  room  a  library ;  and  in  another  was  a  collection 
of  shells,  minerals,  and  many  curious  natural  productions, 
placed  under  glass ;  all  in  good  preservation  and  well- 
arranged.  All  was  fresh  and  in  order ;  wherever,  in  short, 
we  cast  our  eyes,  indications  of  mind  and  sentiment  were 
seen ;  whilst  the  lively  little  Husgafvel  herself,  leading  us 
here  and  there  and  explaining  all  to  us,  was  not  the  least 
interesting  part  of  the  collection. 

I  was  quite  happy  and  refreshed  by  what  I  had  seen. 
"  But  really  it  is  quite  charming  here,"  exclaimed  I ;  "  can 
any  one  experience  ennui  here 

"  Your  words  afford  me  a  great  pleasure,  dear  Madame 
Werner,"  replied  Miss  Husgafvel,  in  a  lively  voice,  "for  it 
is  my  highest  wish  to  drive  away  this  wearisome  enemy, 
ennui,  with  all  its  attendant  yawning  and  vapours.  All  that 
I  have  collected  together  in  ten  years  is  merely  to  prevent 
my  friends,  and  more  especially  myself,  experiencing  ennui ; 
and  my  daily  occupation  and  my  pleasure  are  continually  to 
bring  into  my  nest  some  new  straw  or  other,  or  to  re-arrange 
the  old.  You  see  this  engraving,"  said  she,  pointing  to  a  St. 
John  after  Dominechino,  "  and  this  head  of  Venus  in  plaster 
of  Paris.  I  received  them  yesterday ;  and  to-day  they  make 
me  quite  happy.  I  am  not  rich  enough  to  purchase  original 
masterpieces,  but  I  can  possess  myself  of  copies  ;  and  thus  at 
small  cost  collect  in  my  nest  the  ideas  of  great  artists." 

"  But  these  masterpieces  are  all  originals,"  said  I,  as  we 
entered  the  little  cabinet  of  natural  history. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Miss  Husgafvel,  "and  on  this  account 
they  are  the  most  valuable  that  I  possess.  The  great  artist, 
God,  acts  here  as  with  all,  en  grand  seigneur.  He  has 
scattered  his  inimitable  works  of  art  over  land  and  shore,  in 
wildernesses,  and  in  the  depths  of  the  sea  itself ;  the  earth 
is  full  of  them,  and  mankind  has  nothing  to  do  but  to  go 
out  and  collect." 

The  remarks  were  to  me  quite  unexpected.  "  O  Miss 
Husgafvel,"  said  I,  "  you  are  right ;  how  much  richer  might 
we  not  make  our  lives,  if  we  would  gather  of  the  good  that  ib 


FRllSrSISKA  WERNER  TO  MARIA  M. 


59 


around  us  ;  if  we  all,  eacli  day,  brought  home  a  straw,  as  you 
call  it !  But  too  often  we  go  about  like  the  blind,  seeing 
nothing." 

"  Ah,  that  is  the  misfortune !"  said  she  ;  "  could  not  the 
doctors  operate  upon  this  kind  of  cataract  ?" 

"  That  of  itself  would  do  no  good,"  said  my  husband ;  "  it 
requires  another  sort  of  operation." 

"  O  Lord  !  what  do  you  mean.  Dr.  "Werner?"  asked  she. 

"  That  one  finds  in  many  people  a  sleepiness,  a  heaviness  Ox 
disposition,  which  " 

"  I  hate  all  heaviness,"  interrupted  Miss  Husgafvel,  with 
a  spring  like  that  of  a  frightened  bird ;  "  it  sends  lead  into  my 
heart  only  to  hear  the  word  spoken.  I  have  rigorously 
striven  to  fly  from  it,  and  in  my  terror  have  taken  refuge  in 
my  Bird's  Nest ;  but  even  here,  alas !  I  must  acknowledge 
that  there  is  a  law  in  the  world  which  may  be  called  the  law 
of  gravity,  and  which  draws  our  bodies  down  to  the  earth. 
Yet  I  strive  to  keep  my  soul  free,  and  to  collect  subjects  of 
thought  around,  as  a  bird  may  fly  about  the  world  and  drink 
dew  from  the  flowers  of  Eden.  Were  I  a  Corinne  or  a  De 
Stael,  I  should,  perhaps,  possess  enough  in  myself.  I  should 
then  sit  down  in  my  little  home,  a  lyre  in  my  hand,  and,  like 
the  nightingale,  enchant  my  friends  with  the  tones  of  my 
voice  alone.  But  as  I  am  only  Hellevi  Husgafvel,  moderately 
gifted  both  in  body  and  soul,  and  yet  do  all  that  in  me  lies  to 
make  it  agreeable  to  those  around  me,  I  have  called  these 
children  of  art  and  nature  to  my  assistance.  And  if  my 
visitors  experience  ennui,  I  can  only  assert  that  it  must  be 
their  own  fault." 

The  lively  lady  said  all  this  as  she  led  us  down  into  her 
garden  ;  into  a  flowering  vine  and  odoriferous  peach-house  ; 
and  then  showed  us  many  beautiful  and  rare  plants,  which 
she  herself  cultivated,  and  called  her  children.  The  Bird's 
Nest  consists  merely  of  a  house  and  garden  ;  but  the  garden 
is  large,  well  fenced,  and  richly  furnished  with  trees  and 
flowers. 

We  partook  of  a  collation  in  a  pretty  little  pavilion  in  tlie 
garden  ;  and,  while  we  were  thus  occupied,  other  visitors 
from  the  city  made  their  appearance,  among  whom  was  Lag- 
man  Hok,  who  was  received  by  Miss  Husgafvel  with  par- 
ticular cordiality.    The  conversation  was  general,  but  soou 


60 


THE  KEIGHBOURS. 


turned  itself  upon  tlie  new  neiglibour  at  Eamm,  about  wTiom 
the  most  various  reports  and  conjectures  were  given.  By 
turns  he  belonged  to  all  nations,  and  his  journey  here  was 
ascribed  to  the  most  various  causes ;  the  most  generally  ac- 
cepted of  which  was  that  he  was  a  spy;  but  what  he  was, 
come  to  spy  nobody  could  tell. 

"  Now,  I'll  bet  anything,"  said  Miss  Husgafvel,  after 
many  merry  guesses  had  been  made  about  him,  "  that  our 
ill-renowned  neighbour  after  all  will  turn  out  quite  a  simple, 
and  nothing  but  a  worthy  man,  who,  tired  of  his  own  country, 
is  come  here  into  Sweden  to  divert  himself  with  shooting 
hares  and  roebucks.  I  have  lived  ten  years  at  Bird's  Nest, 
and  have  never  seen  either  a  spy,  a  renegade,  or  the  hero  of  a 
romance.  I  fancy  these  races  are  fast  decreasing  in  the 
world.  On  the  contrary,  I  have  seen  many  people  who  are 
weary  of  themselves,  and  who  want  to  get  rid  of  the  burden 
of  life.  Grod  grant  that  this  race  may  become  extinct  also  ! 
I  have  not,  however,  any  objection  that  this  new  neighbour 
should  be  a  man  of  the  first  class,  nay,  I  wish  it ;  it  would 
make  the  whole  country  lively,  and  might,  perhaps,  somehow 
occasion  an  interesting  romance." 

The  conversation  was  continued  long  on  this  subject,  and 
was  kept  up  with  great  spirit. 

Miss  Husgafvel  belongs  to  that  rare  class  of  people,  who  not 
only  can  keep  up  a  lively  conversation  themselves,  but  seem 
to  decoy  good  things  out  of  others.  I  was  quite  surprised  to 
hear  how  witty  Bear  was  ;  he  and  Miss  Husgafvel  jested  one 
ao^ainst  the  other,  and  bantered  one  another  like  good  old 
friends.  She  followed  us  to  the  garden-door  as  we  came 
away,  and  I  fancy  read  in  my  eyes  that  I  wished  to  make 
§ome  apology  for  the  remark  I  had  so  inadvertently  made 
,vhen  we  first  met ;  for  she  took  my  hand,  and  said  in  the 
most  cordial  manner,  "  Come  often  to  Bird's  Nest,  my  good 
Madame  Werner,  will  you  not  ?  I  care  nothing  after  all,  if 
people  do  say  that  the  old  Miss  Hellevi  is  malicious  and 
ridiculous.  T  myself  have  heard  the  report,  but  it  will  not 
occasion  her  one  more  grey  hair  than  she  has  already.  But 
to  you,  Madame  Werner,  she  would  willingly  appear  different ! 
and  she  is  bold  enough  therefore  to  beg  you  to  come  again; 
and  Dr.  Werner,  I  hope,  will  accompany  his  wife.  I  feel 
myself  better  when  1  see  him.  But  remember  this,  I  do  not 


PKA?fSISKA  WEIINER  TO  MARIA  M. 


Gl 


compel  YOU — I  hate  compulsion  in  social  life ,  and  dear 
Madame  Werner,  if  you  should  ever  say  to  the  Doctor,  '  Ah, 
good  husband,  we  really  must  pay  a  visit  to  that  old  Miss 
Hellevi  Hiisgafvel — it  is  rather  a  dull  business,  but  still  she 
pressed  us  so  !'  then  I  pray  you,  in  Heaven's  name,  not  to 
come  ;  and  even,  indeed,  if  you  were  never  to  come  again, 
Miss  Hellevi  would  say  all  the  same — the  Werners  are  good- 
hearted  people,  and  it  would  give  me  great  pleasure  to  see 
them  often." 

"But,"  said  I,  "the  Werners  are  not  so  liberal;  they 
reckon  confidently  on  seeing  you  soon  at  E-osenvik,  and  will 
talk  ill  of  you  if  you  do  not  soon  come." 

"  Is  it  possible  ?  then  I  will  be  among  the  first  to  come !" 
said  the  lively  little  lady,  and  kissing  her  hand  to  us,  flew 
away.  Flew,  I  say,  because  she  resembles  a  bird  in  so 
remarkable  a  manner;  all  her  motions  are  quick,  but  too 
abrupt  to  be  graceful. 

As  the  cabriolet  bore  us  slowly  away  in  the  peaceful, 
beautiful  summer  evening,  I  endeavoured  to  discover  clearly 
what  was  the  impression  Avhich  the  Bird's  Nest  and  its  pos- 
sessor had  made  upon  me.  I  had  experienced  pleasure  : 
Miss  Husgafvel  pleased  me  in  the  first  instance,  because  she 
had  so  kindly  forgiven  my  stupidity  ;  secondly,  on  account 
of  her  dwelling  and  her  philosophy  of  life :  but  still  I  was 
not  completely  satisfied.  One  htct  after  another  raised  itself 
in  my  mind  against  her  Bird's  Nest ;  then  another  hut  raised 
itself  against  this  objection ;  and  so  at  last,  to  disentangle 
myself  from  this  but-warfare,  I  determined  to  draw  Bear 
into  it. 

"  Bird's  Nest,"  I  began,  "  is  very  neat,  pretty,  and  inte- 
resting ;  but  " 

"But  what  ?"  questioned  he. 

"  But  I  miss  a  something,"  said  I,  "in  this  little  museum 
when  I  think  of  it  as  a  home.  It  seems  to  me  as  if  there 
were  something  dry,  something  egotistical,  in  the  whole 
establishment." 

"  How  so  ?"  asked  Bear  attentively. 

"  How  shall  I  say?"  deliberated  I.  "  It  seems  to  me  as 
if  the  love  of  the  shells  had  dried  up  the  heart.  Whom  does 
Miss  Husgafvel  make  happy  by  her  establishment  and  her 
life  r    Who  is  benefited  by  them  ?" 


62 


THE  JTEIGHBOTTUS. 


"  My  dear  Eanny,"  replied  my  husband,  "  we  must  take 
^are  not  to  judge  too  severely,  and  not  to  take  that  word 
benefit  too  one-sidedly.  It  is  tTue  that  Miss  Husgafvel  leads 
a  pleasant  life  for  herself,  but  she  imparts  pleasure  also  to 
her  friends.  There  would  exist  less  accomplishment  and  less 
pleasure  in  this  neighbourhood  if  Miss  Husgafvel  and  her 
Bird's  Nest  were  not  here.  Her  Wednesday  soirees  are  as 
lively  as  they  are  interesting ;  we  will  sometimes  go  to  them." 

"  Now  yes.  Bear,"  said  I,  "  it  is  very  well  that  she  amuses 
the  people ;  it  is  very  well  that  somebody  will  give  themselves 
the  trouble  ;  but  still  I  think  that  her  house  would  be  more 
attractive  if  it  could  offer — how  shall  I  express  it  ? — a  more 
lively  human  interest." 

"  It  is  not  without  such  a  one,"  returned  he,  "  even  though 
it  be  concealed." 

"  How  ?"  inquired  I. 

"  Miss  Husgafvel  has  a  younger  sister,  who  made  an 
unhappy  marriage,  and  in  consequence  became  extremely 
unfortunate.  "When  she  was  a  widow,  and  had  lost  all  her 
property,  her  sister  Hellevi  was  not  only  her  excellent  friend, 
but  took  her  to  live  with  her,  and  became  the  support  of  her 
and  her  daughter.  This  poor  lady,  an  estimable  mother,  has 
become  averse  to  society  through  her  misfortunes.  If  you 
had  gone  to  the  upper  story  of  the  house,  you  would  have 
seen  still-life  there  not  less  interesting  than  Miss  Hellevi 
and  her  museum  ;  human  beings  cannot  love  one  another 
better  than  these  two  sisters  do." 

"  If  there  be  such  eggs  in  the  Bird's  Nest,"  said  I,  "  I  am 
perfectly  satisfied  with  it ;  for  you  see,  my  own  Bear,  that 
without  a  loving  human  heart  I  can  consider  no  dwelling 
happy,  even  w^ere  it  full  of  works  of  art  and  jewels.  But 
now,  long  life  to  Miss  Hellevi  Husgafvel  and  the  Bird's 
Nest!" 

THE  THIRD  VISITING-DAY. 

A  meagre  day  in  a  rich  house.  The  house  would  be  mag- 
nificent, but  is  only  decked  out.  The  master  would  bo 
Grand  Seigneur,  but  boasts  of  his  chandeliers  and  French 
carpets.  The  lady  would  be  of  the  highest  taste,  and  would 
conduct  the  most  interesting  conversation,  of  which,  however, 
she  makes  only  an  extraordinary  mishmash.    The  daughtc^rs 


FRANSISKA  WERNER  TO  MARIA  M. 


03 


would  be  highly  accomplished,  full  of  talent  and  style,  and 
have  a  sort  of  jargon,  from  which  only  proceeds  a  great 
emptiness.  The  son  would  be  a  person  of  great  importance, 
and  is  only  a  little  blonde  gentleman  with  badly-curled  hair. 
The  whole  family  is  a  collection  of  unfortunate  preten- 
sions. 

A  great  inheritance,  a  patent  of  nobility — (JST.B.  Mr.  von  P, 
says  that  he  has  merely  reassumed  his  Grerman  nobility  in 
Sweden) — and  a  journey  to  Paris,  have,  according  to  their 
opinion,  exalted  the  family  of  the  von  P.'s  very  high  in  the 
world.  For  the  last  two  years  they  have  been  settled  at 
Briteberg  ;  have  spent  the  summer  there,  and  built  a  splendid 
house,  and  would  now  pass  for  eagles  among  small  birds ; 
but  they  must  see,  with  great  astonishment,  Ma  chere  mere 
look  down  upon  them. 

Notwithstanding  all  this,  Mrs.  von  P.  is  a  very  polite  lady  ; 
but  a  certain  flourish  of  condescending  friendliness  towards 
me  took  away  all  charm  from  her  politeness.  Several  young 
gentlemen,  who  were  calling  at  the  same  time,  chatted  and 
laughed  a  great  deal  with  the  young  ladies,  Emelie  and 
Adele,  who,  in  the  most  elegant  toilet,  sate  with  Trench 
gloves  on  their  hands,  moving  their  heads  as  if  they  were 
fixed  on  steel  wire. 

Mrs.  von  P.  questioned  me  immediately  after  G-eneralska 
Mansfelt,  examining  me  as  to  my  relationship  with  her,  by 
which  it  came  out  that  I  was  not  at  all  related  to  her.  I  had 
never  thought  of  this  before,  and  it  made  me  sorry  to  discover 
it.  Then  we  began  to  speak  of  Stockholm,  and  of  all  well- 
known  people  there,  when  behold !  all  Mrs.  von  P.'s  acquaint- 
ance and  intimate  friends  were  Counts  and  Countesses. 
Above  all,  she  spoke  of  Count  L.'s  family.  Count  L.  and 
his  family  had  lately  been  at  Briteberg,  and  now  the  von  P.'s 
were  invited  to  pass  part  of  the  summer  with  the  Count  L. 
at  H.  The  von  P.'s  had  made  an  excursion  with  the  L.'s 
the  former  summer  to  TJddewalla,  and  had  resided  at  Grus- 
tavsberg  together ;  the  Countess  L.  was  an  extraordinarily 
charming  person,  whom  Mrs.  von  P.  liked  as  a  sister  ;  and 
the  Miss  L.'s  were  pretty  and  accomplished  girls,  tout-a-fait, 
comme  il  faut.    Madame  Werner,  you  know  the  L.'s  ?" 

"  No  !"    Madame  Werner  must  confess  her  ignorance. 

"At  Count  L.'s,"  said  Mrs.  von  P.,  "we  met  ehe  best 


64 


THE  NEIGH^OrRS. 


society  in  Stockholm.    1  there  met  the  Baron  N.'s  family 
perhaps  you  are  acquainted  with  them  ?" 
"  No." 

"  Not  ?  They  are  of  the  highest  standing,"  said  the  lady. 
"  But  I  cannot  help  t Kinking  that  I  must  have  met  you, 
Madame  "Werner,  in  evening  parties  at  Count  B.'s." 

"  It  is  not  possible,"  I  replied,  "  for  I  never  was 
there." 

"  But — ,"  persisted  she,  "  it  seems  to  me  that  posi- 
tively        Pardon,  but  might  I  mquire  Madame  Werner's 

family  name  ?" 
Buren." 

"  Bure  Buren,"  said  she  ;  "  an  old  noble  family,  I  be- 
lieve." 

"  I  don't  know,  I  believe  "  said  I,  hesitating  and^ 

blushing,  for  I  knew  that  my  family  was  not  noble ;  but  a 
little  miserable  weakness  had  come  over  me. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  continued  Mrs.  von  P.  in  a  consolatory  man- 
ner, "  it  is  certainly  a  noble  name,  but  in  our  restless  times 
everything  gets  so  easily  confounded.  Our  family,  for  in- 
stance, which  is  descended  from  an  old  Grerman  stock,  and 
has  given  its  name  to  princes  and  counts  of  the  Empire, — 
our  family,  I  can  tell  you,  even  had  forgotten  its  rank  and 
lived  anonymously  in  Sweden  until  Count  L.  said  to  my 
husband,  '  It  w411  not  do  any  longer,  my  good  friend ;  you, 
with  your  great  property  and  3^our  deserts,  must  have  a  seat 
and  voice  in  the  House  of  Nobles.'  Much  more  of  the  same 
kind,  too,  the  Count  said,  w^hich  induced  us  to  assert  our  old 
claims  to  nobility.  The  affair  is  to  be  sure  in  itself  but  a 
mere  trifle,  especially  in  our  times,  for  whoever  anticipates 
the  age  a  little,  sees  easily  that  education  now  is  the  true 
aristocracy,  and  art,  as  good  as  a  patent  of  nobility.  We 
live  in  an  enlightened  age,  my  best  Madame  Werner,"  con- 
tinued she,  "  and  my  friend  the  Countess  L.  always  said, 
*  Education  gives  a  positive  rank.'  Now  it  is  true,  one  may 
be  always  glad,  and  thank  God  not  to  have  been  called 
Backstrom  or  AVallqvist,  Lofgren,  Sjogren,  or  such  like  ;  a 
good  name,  like  real  properly,  is  always  a  piece  of  good  for- 
tune. When  people  are  placed  by  fate  in  a  high  station, 
they  can  so  much  more  easily  choose  their  acquaintance,  and 
get  into  certain  circles.    Amalie,  L.'s  sister,  the  Countesa 


FRANSTSKA  WERIS^ER  TO  MARIA  M. 


65 


W.,  once  said, — do  you  know  the  Countess  W.,  Madame 
Wemer  ?" 

"  No, — yes, — a  little,"  replied  I. 

"  Is  she  not  a  most  charming  person  ? — Amalie,"  said  her- 
self, "  Ma  soeur  vaut  mieux  que  moi !  It  delights  me,  Madame 
Wemer,  that  you  know  so  distinguished  a  lady.  Ah,  tell  me 
yet  some  more  of  your  acquaintance  in  Stockholm,  perhaps* 
it  may  happen  that  they  are  mine  also." 

I  acknowledge  to  you  my  weakness,  Maria.  I  sought 
about  in  my  brain  after  Counts  and  Countesses.  I  believe 
Mrs.  Yon  P.  had  infected  me  with  her  passion  for  the  high- 
born.   I  mentioned,  therefore,  at  last,  the  Baroness 

Mrs.  von  P.  looked  contemptuous.  "  Don't  know  her," 
said  she  ;  "  probably  retiree  du  monde.  At  Count  L.'s,  and 
at  our  own  house,  the  very  best  society  only  assembled ;  corps 
diplomatique  was  at  home  with  us  and  Count  L.'s." 

At  this  moment  I  suddenly  became  aware  that  Bear  was 
glancing  at  me  with  the  most  roguish  grimaces — this,  and 
the  unfortunate  attempt  I  had  made  with  the  Baroness  E.., 
drove  the  rage  for  distinction  quite  out  of  me  ;  and  in  order 
to  make  myself  at  once  quite  independent  and  clear,  I  named 

the  family  of  his  Excellency  0  as  my  acquaintance  in 

Stockholm. 

Mrs.  von  P.  started  a  little.    "  Ah  indeed  !"  said  she, 

slowly;  "  I  too  have  been  there — a  few  times." 

"  O,  I  was  there  twice,  three  times  a  week,"  said  I, 
smiling. 

"  Indeed!    0  a  most  distinguished  house,"  remarked 

she ;  "  perhaps  the  Countess  0          is  an  intimate  friend  of 

Madame  "Werner?" 

"  No,  I  saw  her  but  seldom,"  I  replied.  "  I  gave  music- 
lessons  to  her  daughters." 

"  Ah,  yes  indeed !  on  account  of  the  acquaintance  I 

suppose,"  said  she. 

"  No,"  I  replied  boldly,  "  for  money.  I  was  poor,  and  I 
maintained  myself  thus." 

Mrs.  von  P.  grew  red,  and  looked  quite  embarrassed  ;  but 
Bear  smiled,  and  that  gave  me  courage.  "  My  brother-in- 
law,  Bergvall,"  said  I,  "and  my  friend,  Madame  Wallqvist, 
obtained  for  me  through  Demoiselle  E.,  the  governess  in  his 


THE  miGHBOTJRS. 


Excellency's  house,  the  situation  of  music- teacher  to  the 
daughters  of  this  excellent  family." 

"  Ah,  indeed  ! — ah,  indeed ! — ah,  indeed !"  said  Mrs.  von  P., 
visibly  quite  out  of  conceit ;  and  then,  wishing  to  give  the 
conversation  another  turn,  she  addressed  her  daughters, 

My  dear  girls,  cannot  you  play  and  sing  us  something  ? — > 
some  of  those  pieces  which  you  have  sung  with  the  Misses  L." 

The  young  ladies  complied,  after  some  of  the  gentlemen 
had  seconded  the  request  of  their  mother,  and  sang  both 
Trench  and  Italian  pieces,  which  they  spoiled  through  their 
affected  and  tasteless  manner.  In  the  mean  time,  Mrs.  von 
P.  talked  of  Colorit,  of  Weber,  Eossini,  and  Meyerbeer. 

Weber,"  said  she,  "is  whimsical,  Rossini  poor  in  melody, 
but  Meyerbeer  excels  them  all ;  he  is  truly  le  prince  de  la 
musique.  You  must  not  imagine,  however,  Madame  Werner," 
said  she,  "  that  I  do  not  value  the  practice  of  all  the  arts. 
In  my  opinion,  it  is  art  alone  which  confers  on  us  higher  life, 
and  therefore  I  have  given  to  my  daughters  the  same  educa- 
tion which  I  received  myself ;  they  are  acquainted  with  four 
languages ;  have  great  talent ;  and  it  is  only  lately  that  we 
have  returned  from  Paris,  where  they  have  been  to  perfect 
themselves.    Have  you  been  to  Paris,  Madame  Werner  ?" 

"No." 

"  Ah,  you  must  go  there  soon,"  said  she.  "  On  vit  a  Paris, 
et  Ton  vegete  ailleurs.  Adele,  my  dear,  do  sing  the  little 
piece  that  Count  B.  sent  you.  Do  you  know  Count  B., 
Madame  Werner?" 

"  No." 

He  comes  to  us  this  summer,"  continued  she  ;  "  a  highly 
distinguished  young  man." 

"  Is  your  ladyship  acquainted  with  the  family  of  Merchant 
Dahl  ?"  asked  I,  now  wearied  with  being  always  the  re- 
spondent. 

"  No — a  little,"  replied  she  ;  "  our  circles  are  so  different. 
Good,  very  good  people,  I  believe.  I  have  seen  them  a  few 
times  in  company  : — the  Merchant — what  do  you  call  them  ? 
— the  Dall — Dahlens,  don't  mix  much  in  the  better  society 
of  this  place." 

"  Because  they  are  so  old,  I  presume,"  said  I.  "  I  have 
heard  a  great  deal  of  th-eir  granddaughter,  Miss  Lofwen ; 
she  must  be  very  amiable." 


TRAKSISKA  WEENER  TO  MARIA  M. 


67 


"The  girl  is  pretty  enough,"  conceded  Mrs.  von  P.,  "but 
a  poor  little,  misshapen,  sickly  creature ;  she  will  not  live 
long.    The  whole  family  is  of  fragile  health." 

"  A  little,  misshapen,  sickly  creature  !"  repeated  I,  greatly 
astonished ;  "  what  in  all  the  world  " 

But  I  had  not  much  time  to  be  astonished  on  this  subject, 
as  one  of  the  gentlemen  mentioned  the  new  neighbour  at 
Eamm  (I  begin  to  be  half  wearied  of  hearing  of  the  new 
neighbour),  and  Mrs.  von  P.,  who  seemed  as  if  she  feared  the 
conversation  might  stagnate,  threw  herself  zealously  into  tlie 
subject. 

"  O,  that  must  be  an  interesting  man !"  said  she  ;  a 
true  heros  du  Eoman !  His  name  is  Romanus  or  Eomuluis, 
and  he  is  an  Italian  of  a  princely  line.  He  murdered  his 
first  wife,  and  then  carried  off  a  beautiful  English  womau, 
with  whom  he  went  to  America.  There  he  had  a  duel  with 
her  brother,  whom  he  killed — whereupon  the  beloved  one 
died  of  grief.  Now  he  travels  all  the  world  over  to  dissipate 
his  sorrow,  and  to  do  good,  for  his  benevolence  is  as  great  as 
his  wealth." 

I  gaped  in  wonder. 
Such  circumstances,"  continued  Mrs.  von  P.,  speaking 
with  great  affectation,  "belong  so  entirely  to  our  eccentric 
and  passionate  times,  that  we  cannot  pass  sentence  on  them 
according  to  severe  moral  laws.  Deep,  passionate,  Byronian 
natures,  require  their  own  measure.  One  must  take  climatt^ 
also  into  consideration,  and  not  require  from  men  under  the 
suns  of  the  south,  that  which  one  expects  from  those  living 
in  our  colder  north," 

I  wondered  within  myself  at  Mrs.  von  P.'s  words,  and 
especially  by  the  expression  "  our  eccentric  and  passionate 
age ;"  but  it  soon  occurred  to  me  that  she  drew  her  knowledge 
of  the  age  only  from  novels.  Observe,  good  Maria,  that  I  sa\- 
only — because  novel-reading  is  not  injurious,  except  to  the 
exclusion  of  all  other  reading, 

LoDg  live  novels,  novel-readers,  and  novel-writers !  es,^e- 
cially  as  I  myself  am  one  of  them !  Mais  revenons  a  nos 
moutons. 

The  young  ladies  sang  and  quavered,  and  seemed  almost 
to  have  forgotten  that  there  was  such  a  phrase  a§  to  leave 
off.   I  went  to  them,  and  was  mischievous  enough  to  inquu^e 

.e2  ' 


68 


THE  KEIGHBOURS. 


if  fhey  ever  sang  Swedish  ?  whereupon  they  answered  "  JTo,'* 
and  began  to  speak  of  Malibran,  of  Paris,  and  such  subjects, 

without  speaking  well  of  any  of  them. 

Affectation,  false  taste,  conceit,  how  I  detest  you !  and  on 
that  account  I  will  now  make  my  escape  from  the  nest  of 
these  three  owl-sisters. 

Mrs.  von  P.  took  a  ceremonious  and  cold  adieu,  without 
asking  me  to  come  again.  I  conjecture  that  music-lessons, 
and  my  acquaintance  with  wall  and  quist  people,  made  Mrs. 
von  P.  feel  that  I  was  not  fit  to  mix  in  their  circles.  Well 
— and  she  may  be  right  there. 

On  our  way  home  we  met  wagons  laden  with  goods,  for 
the  new  neighbour.  After  all  I  have  heard  of  this  man,  if 
he  should  only  be  a  common,  every-day  sort  of  a  person,  how 
vexed  I  shall  be  ! 

14th  June. 

Yesterday  afternoon  we  were  at  home,  and  rejoiced  on  that 
account.  Bear  worked  like  a  regular  joiner,  and  I  read  to 
him  that  which  I  had  written  about  our  visiting-days.  He 
w^as  amused  ;  he  laughed,  and  yet  he  blamed  me  at  the  same 
time  for  having  spoken  with  so  much  severity  of  some  persons ; 
neither  was  he  quite  satisfied  with  the  judgment  I  had  passed 
on  the  von  P.'s. 

"  You  call  them,"  said  he,  "  a  collection  of  unfortunate 
pretensions,  and  yet  you  have  seen  them  only  once.  It  is 
very  difficult,  my  dear  Panny,  to  pass  judgment  on  men  after 
a  long  acquaintance,  and  quite  impossible  to  do  so  after  one 
visit.  Beyond  this,  many  persons  under  different  circum- 
stances exhibit  such  different  sides  of  their  character.  I  have 
seen  people  affected  and  ridiculous  in  society,  whom  I  have 
admired  by  a  sick  bed;  many,  in  one  case  wearisome  and 
assuming,  who  in  another  have  been  discreet  and  agreeable. 
Others,  again,  have  eccentricities  at  one  time  which  they  lose 
later  in  life ;  many  turn  their  best  side  inward,  and  perform 
the  noblest  actions,  whilst  the  world  is  laughing  at  the  fool's- 
cap  which  they  exhibit.    It  may  be  so  with  this  family." 

""^ranted,  granted,  dear  Bear,"  said  I;  "and  I  promise 
you  that  as  soon  as  I  become  aware  of  the  fiiir  side,  I  will 
paint  it  in  my  best  colours." 

'*But  were  it  not  better  till  then,"  argued  he,  "to  place 
the  faults  more  in  the  shadow  ?    It  is  exactly  bv  such  ov  er- 


FRANSISKA  WEEIfER  TO  MARIA  M.  09 

hasty  judgments  that  man  injures  his  neighbour,  for  nobody 
reflects  that  one  fault  does  not  spoil  the  whole  person." 

"  What  would  you  have  ?"  asked  I ;  "  you  distress  me  :  do 
you  wish  that  I  should  throw  all  I  have  written  into  the 
fire?" 

"  No,  let  it  be  as  it  is,"  said  he  ;  "  the  mind  of  your  reader 
will  probably  suggest  what  I  have  said." 

"  But  for  greater  security.  Bear,  and  to  ease  my  own  con- 
science, I  vdll  make  her  partaker  of  our  little  conversation." 

And  this,  my  best  Maria,  I  have  now  done.  Ah,  I  fear  I 
shall  always  remain  an  over-hasty  person,  who  judges  by  first 
impressions ! 

Eorgive  me,  and  love  still,  your 

Eraksiska. 


CHAPTEE  III. 

I  COME  from — a  better  world  ;  I  have  been  in  the  kingdom 
of  heaven !    Do  you  wish  to  know  how  it  looks  there  ? 

There  was  a  patriarch  and  his  wife ;  and  only  to  see  that 
ancient,  venerable  couple,  made  the  heart  rejoice.  Tranquil- 
lity was  upon  their  brows,  cheerful  wisdom  on  their  lips,  and 
in  their  glance  one  read  love  and  peace.  A  band  of  angels 
surrounded  them :  some  little  children,  others  blooming 
maidens.  One  of  these  particularly  fixed  my  attention, 
because  she  so  perfectly  answered  my  idea  of  a  seraph  ;  not 
because  all  the  other  angels  surrounded  her,  not  because  she 
was  so  beautiful — for  she  was  not  beautiful, — but  because 
she  looked  so  pure  and  loving,  and  because  she  seemed  to  be 
there  for  the  happiness  of  all. 

Now  she  was  wdth  the  patriarchs,  and  mutual  love  beamed 
from  glance  and  gesture ;  then  she  lifted  angel-children  in 
her  arms,  and  kissed  and  embraced  them  ;  and  then  she 
spoke  joyous,  graceful  words  with  the  angel-maidens.  She 
was  a  kiud,  heavenly  being,  whose  happiness  seemed  to  con- 
sist in  love.  She  gave  a  sign,  and  nectar  and  delicious  fruits 
were  carried  around,  whilst  she  herself  took  care  that  the 
children  had  as  much  as  their  little  hands  could  grasp. 

The  beauty  of  innocense  seemed  throned  upon  her  white 
and  gracefully  moulded  forehead,  which  affected  me,  and 


70' 


THE  KEiaHBOUES. 


awoke  in  me  the  presentiment  of  a  heavenly  vision.  The 
expression  of  her  beautiful  blue  eyes  was  clear  and  holy,  and 
had  that  quiet  bashfulness,  that  candour,  which  delights  us 
in  children.  I  never  saw  a  glance  which  expressed  so  much 
inward  goodness,  which  spoke  so  plainly  that  her  whole 
world  was  pure  blessedness.  The  light  brown  hair  was  oi 
wonderful  beauty  and  brightness,  and  the  skin  white  and 
transparent.  I  never  saw  a  form  so  much  resembling  a 
beautiful  soul,  nor  a  manner  which  so  much  reminded  me  of 
music. 

I  learned  that  this  affectionate  maiden  was  called  Serena, 
and  that  the  children  had  assembled  to  celebrate  her  birthday. 
All  gathered  themselves  around  her,  all  stood  in  need  of  her, 
all  listened  to  her,  and  all  were  listened  to  by  her. 

"  Ah,  Serena !"  said  the  angel-maidens,  "  sing  us  '  The 
[Flower- G-atherer,'  that  lovely,  sweet  song." 

"O  Serena!"  besought  the  angel-children,  "play  to  us 
that  we  may  dance." 

"  I  will  do  all  that  you  wish,"  said  the  kind  Serena,  "  but 
what  shall  I  do  first?  I  fancy  I  must  first  play  for  the 
children,  and  then  we  will  ask  the  stranger  lady  to  sing  us 
that  beautiful  song,  because  she  sings  it  better  certainly  than 
I  do." 

Serena  sate  down  and  played,  whilst  the  young  danced  and 
the  old  smiled,  so  that  it  was  a  pleasure  to  see.  After  the 
dance  the  fruit-basket  was  again  carried  round,  and  then 
Serena  asked  me,  in  the  name  of  all,  to  sing  "  The  Elower- 
Gratherer."  I  sate  down  to  the  piano,  and  the  little  band 
with  oranges  in  their  hands  thronged  around  me ;  their  rosy 
cheeks  and  joyful  glances  animating  my  song. 

"Ah,  ODce  more!  once  more!"  burst  forth  from  all  sides 
when  I  had  ended ;  so  I  sang  it,  yet  once  and  twice  again, 
the  little  angels  seeming  as  if  they  could  not  be  satisfied. 
The  patriarchs  thanked  me  for  my  song  even  as  heartily  as 
the  children,  and  I  thanked — the  poet. 

Serena  then  introduced  games  of  various  kinds,  and  aD 
was  laughter  and  fun  during  these  games ;  and  whilst  I  sate 
by  the  patriarchs,  there  stole  in  one  little  angel  who  pos- 
sessed a  strong  portion  of  earthly  covetousness,  and  took 
something  from  the  hoard  of  her  sister.  Serena,  who  at  that 
mohient  was  handing  nectar  to  the  patriarchs^  followed  th« 


TEAXSISKA  WERKER  TO  MABIA  M. 


71 


cbild  with  her  eyes,  and  then  going  after  her,  took  her  asido; 
riet  her  on  her  knee,  and  said  with  a  grave  although  mild 
countenance:  "Why,  little  Eva,  did  you  take  your  sister' y 
apple, — was  it  right  ?  was  that  well  done  ?" 

"  She  had  two,  and  1  had  none  !"  stammered  out  the  little 
Eva,  frightened  and  ready  to  cry. 

"Because  you  had  eaten  yours,"  remarked  Serena;  "hut 
in  no  case  had  you  a  right  to  take  your  sister's  fruit.  That 
was  very  wrong,  Eva!" 

"  I  thought  nobody  saw  me,"  said  the  little  one,  weeping. 

"  But  if  no  one  else  saw  you,  Grod  saw  you ;  and  he  does 
not  love  children  who  do  that  which  is  WTong.  Go  now  and 
lay  the  apple  down  again,  dear  Eva." 

Little  Eva  went  and  laid  down  the  apple  again  (if  great 
Eva  had  only  done  the  same !)  ;  and  with  tears  on  her  cheeks 
said  to  Serena,  "  But  then,  won't  you  love  me  any  more  ?" 

"  Will  you  promise  me  not  again  to  take  without  permis- 
sion that  which  does  not  belong  to  you  ?"  asked  Serena  softly, 
but  seriously. 

"  O  yes  !"  sighed  the  little  one,  "  I  won't  do  so  again !" 

"  Then  I  shall,  love  you,  and  you  shall  be  my  dear  little 
Eva  again,"  said  she,  taking  the  child  upon  her  knee,  and 
letting  it  quietly  weep  on  her  bosom. 

This  little  scene,  of  which  I  was  a  secret  spectator  whilst  I 
was  chatting  with  the  old  people,  gave  me  a  picture  and  a 
lesson  which  I  shall  not  soon  forget. 

At  the  Dahls  also,  the  new  resident  at  Hamm  was  spoken 
of ;  but  not  in  the  spirit  of  extravagant  conjecture ;  some 
things  which  were  good  and  noble  were  related  of  him  ;  the 
man  certainly  was  not  Don  Miguel — and  there  was  joy  over 
him  in  the  kingdom  of  heaven. 

In  this  kingdom  of  heaven  there  was  a  little  sparrow,  but 
not  like  any  sparrow  I  ever  before  saw.  It  was  tame,  and 
full  of  a  human  kindness ;  the  angel-children  were  particu- 
larly charmed  with  it.  All  was  laughter,  bustle,  and  merri- 
ment, as  the  sparrow  flew  about,  sitting  ever  and  anon  on 
their  little  heads,  and  "  Gull-gul!  Grull-gul !"  was  repeated 
by  aU  the  jubilant  company. 

So  passed  the  whole  evening,  with  games,  dance,  song,  and 
laughter.  At  one  time  the  angel-band,  conducted  by  Serena, 
eame  and  danced  round  the  patriarchs,  enclosing  Bear  and 


72 


THE  NEIGHBOrES. 


his  wife  in  the  lovely  joyful  circle,  till  again  breaking  loose^ 
m  the  midst  of  song,  they  dispersed  to  form  new  groups. 

However  beautiful  and  joyous  it  might  be  in  the  kingdom 
of  heaven,  still  we  must  think  of  returning  to  our  little 
earthly  home ;  so,  after  we  had  supped  with  the  angels,  we 
set  out  on  our  way.  But  the  worthy  patriarchs  and  the 
lovely  Serena  prayed  us  so  warmly  and  earnestly  to  come 
soon  and  spend  a  whole  day  with  them,  that  we  gave  our 
hands  upon  it ;  and  I  must  confess  that  I  desired  nothing 
better.  On  the  way  home  I  could  talk  of  nothing  but  Serena, 
and  went  to  sleep  with  her  lovely  image  in  my  soul. 

Perhaps  in  time  I  may  come  to  see  this  family  in  a  more 
prosaic  light,  and  then  you  will  receive  a  less  poetical  picture. 
Life  wears  oftener  its  every-day  than  its  festival  garb.  This 
however  I  know,  I  have  had  a  heavenly  vision. 

June  18th. 

Away  from  home  may  be  good,  but  at  home  is  best !  So 
have  I  thought  a  hundred  times  during  the  two  pleasant 
days  I  have  passed  quietly  in  looking  after  my  own  affairs. 
I  tame  my  Bear  and  my  little  animals.  All  goes  on  quite 
well.  Six  hens,  three  ducks,  and  two  turkeys,  are  now  my 
intimate  acquaintance.  I  have  caressed  and  fed  the  cows 
to-day.  The  fine  creatures!  The  largest  and  handsomest 
of  which  I  have  christened  Audumbla,  in  memory  of  the  beau- 
tiful northern  mythology,  of  which  I  have  read  in  the  symbo- 
lical lore  of  the  Edda. 

My  Bear  is  a  strange  being.  Since  he  has  given  up  his 
little  vices,  he  has  acquired — Grod  knows  how  ! — continually 
a  greater  influence  over  me.  This  however  is  certain,  that 
he  is  right  good,  and  reasonable.  Yesterday  evening  he  came 
into  our  drawing-room  with  the  pipe  in  his  mouth,  but  stood 
at  the  doorway  looking  at  me,  and  made  such  roguish,  ques- 
tioning grimaces,  that  I  sprang  up,  embraced  both  him  and 
his  pipe,  and  drew  them  both  into  the  room.  I  was  so 
happy  that  the  pipe  did  not  hate  the  room — but — one  would 
not  like  it  every  day  

19th. 

Miss  Hellevi  Husgafvel — sprightliness  to  the  very  roof — 
Bupper  on  Svano ;  and  thus  have  you  yesterday  afternoon. 
Miss  Hellevi  ia  a  verv  lively  and  clever  person*  almost  too 


FEA^'SISKA  WE  I;  M  l.  TO  MAEIA  M. 


73 


iively  for  me.  She  seems  to  me  like  preserved  ginger  ;  when 
one  takes  it  now  and  tlien,  one  finds  it  refreshing,  and  ex- 
claims delicate !   All  day  long  is  quite  too  much. 

"  Bear,  come  here,  angel !  what  say  you  to  this  com- 
parison 

"  That  it  is  malicious,  and  that  you  yourself  are  gingeJj 
you  sea-cat !" 

"  Ginger  ?  that  you  are,  yourself,  you  Bear  !" 

20th. 

The  sisters-in-law  are  come.  Yesterday  morning,  just  as 
Bear  and  I  were  thus  skirmishing,  we  received  a  note  from 
Ma  chere  mere,  inviting  us  to  go  for  the  evening :  in  the 
first  place,  because  she  wished  to  see  us ;  and  secondly,  be- 
cause she  wished  us  to  receive  the  relations  with  her,  who 
were  expected  that  evening  at  Carlsfors.  "  If  the  little  wife 
will  come  the  first,"  added  she,  "  I  shall  be  right  glad  to  see 
her ;  and  for  that  purpose  shall  send  my  Norrkopings' 
carriage  with  the  brown  horses  after  dinner  to  E-osenvik. 
Tor  this  once  I  will  burden  my  conscience  by  separating 
man  and  wife  ;  still,  if  they  can  come  together,  so  much  the 
pleasanter." 

I  was  very  curious  to  see  the  brothers-in-law  and  their 
wives.  My  husband,  who  was  overjoyed  by  the  thought  of 
seeing  again  his  beloved  brother  Peter,  could  not,  however, 
on  account  of  several  patients,  reach  Carlsfors  before  evening ; 
so  I  went  alone  in  the  Norrkopings'  carriage,  which  is 
pleasanter  than  the  heaven- chariot. 

I  found  Lagman  Hok  with  Ma  chere  mere.  He  comes 
regularly  once  a  week,  and  brings  from  the  town  where  he 
lives,  newspapers  and  law  documents  ;  for  Ma  chere  mere, 
who  has  a  strong  sense  of  right,  has  many  law-suits.  She 
talks  with  him  a  great  deal  about  her  affairs,  in  which  he 
takes  more  interest  than  in  his  own ;  and  this  conversation 
begins  when  cofiee  comes  in,  for  during  dinner  she  shows 
herself  a  most  agreeable  hostess  to  all  her  guests.  This  lasts 
tiU  six  o'clock ;  then,  says  Ma  chere  mere,  "  Now  Lagman 
we  "v^  ill  walk,"  and  the  two  parade,  side  by  side,  np  and 
down  ihe  large  room.  This  time  may  be  regarded  as  one  of 
rest ;  for  the  two  never  speak  a  word,  excepting  that  Ma 
chere  mere,  who  goes  with  her  hands  behind  her  back,  says 


74 


THE  IS-EiaHBOIJRS. 


uiicea singly,  yet  almost  inandibly,  and  only  by  the  movement 
of  the  tongue,  "  Trallala,  trallala,  trallal !  trallala,  traUala, 
trail!''  This  walk,  which  has  come  to  be  called  trail,  lasts 
probably  half  an  hour,  on  which  Ma  chere  mere  says,  "  Now 
Lagman  let  us  sit !"  on  which  the  two  sit  down  and  begin 
to  chat  again,  but  not  of  business,  but  of  the  good  old  times  ; 
of  fhe  then  living  remarkable  people ;  relate  anecdotes  and 
drink  tea.  So  have  they  paraded,  trailed  and  chatted,  above 
twenty  years ! 

The  Lagman  sometimes  has  wonderful  fits  of  absence :  he 
will  place  himself,  for  instance,  within  a  doorway  or  against 
a  wall,  and  there  stand  for  hours  in  deep  thought  without 
once  moving  from  the  spot.  Sometimes  at  table,  too,  if  he 
would  pour  out  a  glass- of  water  or  wine,  he  never  notices 
v/hen  the  glass  is  full,  but  keeps  pouring  on  till  it  runs  over 
the  table.  Ma  chere  mere  is  not  much  pleased  when  such 
accidents  occur ;  but  she  never  speaks  one  unfriendly  word 
to  him  on  the  subject,  but  jokes  him  merely  on  his  "  poetical 
distractions."  Nevertheless,  if  she  see  his  large  hand  reach- 
ing towards  a  caraft,  she  mostly  is  beforehand  with  him. 

But  I  let  my  pen  fly  like  a  wild  bird,  from  one  object 
to  another.  I  return  now  to  the  evening  when  the  relations 
were  expected. 

Both  Ma  chere  mere  and  her  house  were  in  their  most 
festival  garb.  The  Slurka,  or  helmet-cap,  sate  high  and 
proud  on  her  serious  brow,  and  she  marched  through  the 
large  room  by  the  Lagman' s  side  with  the  air  and  carriage 
of  a  general.  They  were  busied  with  the  trail.  All  the  doors 
stood  open,  and  all  the  steps  were  crowded  with  servants  in 
livery.    Everything  looked  quite  festive. 

"  Welcome  now,  my  dear  Fransiska,"  said  Ma  chere  mere, 
reaching  to  me  her  hand  with  a  stately  bearing ;  "  you  will 
now  make  the  acquaintance  of  your  new  family.  We  shall 
see  what  these  young  ladies  are  like ;  we  will  pass  our  judg- 
ment on  them — yes,  that  we  will !  In  the  mean  time,  my 
heart !  go  and  do  what  you  like  whilst  I  finish  my  trail." 

I  availed  myself  of  this  permission,  and  went  to  see  how 
the  chambers  of  the  sisters-in-law  looked.  I  found  the 
coarse  toilet-covers  had  been  replaced  with  others  much  finer, 
which  gave  me  pleasure.  In  every  other  respect,  too,  the 
rooms  were  comfortably  furnished ;  all  was  substantial,  coa» 


fea]sstsk:a  wee]S"er  to  maria  m. 


75 


f euient,  and  clean ;  but  1  missed  something  of  tlie  poetry, 
Bometliing  of  the  luxury  of  life,  without  which  life  and  home 
vvould  only  be  mere  necessary  establishments. 

"  Ma  chere  mere,"  thought  I,  "  will  leave  this  to  the  ladies 
themselves,  will  leave  them  to  beautify  their  own  little  world, 
according  to  their  o^\tl  taste."  Although  I  could  not  but 
confess  that  this  was  best,  I  felt  irresistibly  compelled  to 
anticipate  some  little,  and  going,  therefore,  into  the  garden, 
gathered  a  quantity  of  flowers,  which  grow  there  in  super- 
abundance ;  hastily  wove  two  garlands,  one  of  which  I  hung 
over  each  looking-glass,  and  then  disposing  glasses  of  flowers 
about  the  rooms,  pleased  myself  in  no  small  degree  w^ith  the 
friendly  aspect  they  gave.  Presently,  however,  I  heard  a 
strong  voice  behind  me.  "  Yes,  indeed,  my  little  one  !  it  is 
your  pleasure,  is  it — to  go  ramping  about  in  my  garden,  and 
among  my  flowers  ?  "What  did  you  think  I  should  say  to 
that?" 

I  turned  round  and  looked  somewhat  terrified  at  the  severe 
countenance  of  Ma  chere  mere. 

"  Now,  now,  don't  look  so  hebete,"  said  she,  her  counte- 
nance changing ;  and  patting  me  on  the  cheek,  "  I  will  say 
no  more  than  that  you  are  poetical,  and  if  you  choose  to  fill 
the  chambers  of  your  sisters-in-law  with  plunder,  that  is  your 
business,  not  mine — the  thing,  however,  looks  very  pretty.  I 
see,  my  dear,  that  you  are  not  without  taste  ;  and  now,  if  you 
will  have  a  cup  of  tea,  come  out  with  me,  for  my  captain- 
commandant — so  Ma  chere  mere  calls  her  stomach — has  no 
inclination  to  wait  for  the  young  gentry.  Hok  is  standing 
at  the  saloon  door  in  one  of  his  reveries,  but  we'll  see  if  we 
cannot  wake  him." 

As  I  followed  her  into  the  saloon,  I  heard  my  husband's 
steps  in  the  next  room.  I  had  merely  time  to  whisper  to 
her,  "When  he  asks  after  me,  you  have  not  seen  me;"  and 
hastily  hid  myself  behind  an  open  door. 

Ma  chere  mere  winked  her  approbation  of  my  little  trick, 
and  Bear  entered. 

"  Where  is  my  wife  ?"  asked  he,  as  soon  as  he  had  greeted 
her  and  kissed  her  hand. 

"  I  have  had  no  intelligence  of  her,"  replied  she  very 
gravely ;  "  I  have  not  seen  her  at  all." 

"  Heavens !  where  is  she  then  ?"  exclaimed  he,  in  such  ar 


76 


THE  NEIGHBOURS. 


agitated,  terrified  manner  as  quite  affected  me ;  so  after  ht 
bad  looked  on  all  sides,  and  was  just  turning  to  leave  the  room, 
I  sprang  forward  and  clasped  my  arms  round  him. 

Ah !  how  sweet  it  is  to  know  that  one  is  beloved !  Thank 
God  for  it ! 

Ha!  ha!  ha!"  laughed  out  Ma  chere  mere,  at  our  em- 
bracing. 

Bear  was  quite  excited  at  having  found  his  little  wife 
again,  and  at  the  prospect  of  soon  embracing  his  beloved 
brother. 

Ma  chere  mere  seated  herself  at  the  top  of  the  great  saloon 
in  her  great  arm-chair  covered  with  red  damask ;  called  me  to 
sit  near  her ;  and  then  ordered  Bear,  Lagman  Hok,  and  Tuttin, 
to  arrange  themselves  in  a  half  circle  around  her.  I  saw  by- 
all  this  that  she  was  bent  upon  a  great  scene,  which  should 
be  imposing  to  the  young  ladies ;  for  thus,  in  order  to  ap- 
proach, they  would  have  to  traverse  the  long  saloon.  I 
assure  you  that  my  heart  was  full  of  sympathy  for  them ;  and 
in  the  depths  of  my  soul  I  thanked  my  husband  for  his  kind- 
ness in  letting  me  make  Ma  chere  mere's  acquaintance  in 
the  impromptu  manner  I  did,  thus  preventing  me  having  to 
pass  the  ordeal  of  a  solemn  presentation,  which  would  have 
been  a  horror  and  stumbling-block  to  me. 

Ma  chere  mere's  strong  nerves  prevented  her  having  any 
idea  of  such  feelings;  and  while  we  sate  at  our  post,  she 
merrily  and  graphically  told  of  her  first  presentation  at 
court;  and  how,  for  a  long  time  beforehand,  she  had  prac- 
tised making  her  reverences  before  five  chairs ;  and  then, 
how  these  reverences,  after  this,  were  performed  before  the 
crowned  heads  themselves. 

Ma  chere  mere  described  the  whole  scene  and  the  principal 
persons  with  so  much  life  and  spirit,  that  I  forgot  where  I 
sate,  and  why  I  sate  there,  when  a  carriage  was  heard 
approaching. 

Ma  chere  mere  paused,  and  I  started  up,  so  did  my 
husband,  but  she  laid  immediately  her  heavy  hand  inter- 
dictingly  upon  my  arm,  and  said  to  us  both,  "  Sit  still !  The 
old  one  shall  be  first  to  bid  them  welcome  to  her  house,  and 
the  old  one  will  await  them  here!" 

She  looked  solemn  and  dignified,  and  I  sate  down  again 
with  a  beating  heart.    Bear  looked  undetermined;  but  aa 


FRAFSISKA  WEENEE  TO  MAEIA  M. 


77 


he  listened  to  the  commotion  and  sound  of  voices  in  the  halij 
he  said,  "  It  is  Jean  Jacques and  sate  down  again. 

The  next  moment  steps  were  heard,  and  with  a  loud  voice 
a  servant  announced  "  Baron  Jean  Jacques  and  his  lady  !" 

A  silken  dress  rustled,  and  a  lady  entered,  probably  of  my 
age,  but  taller,  conducted  by  a  gentleman.  She  looked 
altogether  comme  il  faut,  stepped  quickly,  but  with  great 
self-possession,  through  the  room  towards  Ma  chere  mere, 
who  raised  herself  majestically,  and  advancing  a  few  paces  to 
meet  her,  looked  highly  imposing.  The  young  lady  curtseyed 
very  deeply,  and  kissed  the  offered  hands  as  I  had  done, 
whilst  Ma  chere  mere  in  return  kissed  her,  but  only  on  the 
forehead ;  embraced  her,  and  bade  her  welcome,  hoping  she 
would  find  herself  agreeably  at  home  in  this  house.  Next 
she  saluted  Jean  Jacques,  and  that  exactly  in  the  same  way 
as  she  had  saluted  my  husband  before. 

After  that  we  were  introduced  to  our  new  relatives :  I  sate 
down  near  my  sister-in-law  ;  at  first  we  were  a  little  excited, 
but  soon  calming  ourselves,  became  most  friendly,  and  en- 
gaged in  an  agreeable  conversation ;  in  short,  I  greatly 
admired  this  first-seen  sister-in-law,  by  name  Jane  Marie. 
She  is  not  handsome,  but  has  something  distinguished  in  her 
appearance,  whilst  her  form  is  exquisite.  Her  remarks  and 
demeanour  show  both  gentleness  and  understanding ;  her 
toilet  also  is  very  pleasing  and  appropriate  ;  a  brown  silk 
dress,  a  gold  chain  and  watch,  a  simple  but  stylish  bonnet 
trimmed  with  clear  blue,  which  accorded  admirably  with  her 
hair.  It  always  gives  me  pleasure  to  see  a  lady  who  under- 
stands the  art  of  dressing  well.  It  is  a  sign  both  of  under- 
standing and  taste. 

"But  where  is  Peter?"  asked  my  husband  at  least  seven 
times  before  the  first  salutations  were  over. 

"  Peter  comes  later,''  answered  Jean  Jacques  at  length, 
"  that  is,  if  he  come  at  all  to-night.  It  pleased  Ebba,"  con- 
tinued he,  "  to  go  to  sleep  at  E.,  where  we  dined,  and  she 
would  not  wake.  Peter  called  and  knocked  to  no  purpose, 
BO  at  last  I  and  m}^  wife  left  them,  in  order  that  Ma  chere 
mere  might  not  expect  us  in  vain.  I  thought  Ebba  might 
just  as  well  have  slept  in  the  carriage,  since  she  never  looks 
at  the  country,  but  sits  wrapped  up  in  her  double  crape-cap." 

Ma  chere  mere  lilightly  moved  her  eyebrows,  and  Beai 


THE  KEIGKBOURS. 


drew  his  down.  I  looked  at  Jane  Marie ;  she  smiled  and 
shrugged  her  shoulders.  At  that  very  moment  a  carriage 
drove  up  to  the  door. 

"  There  he  is  !"  exclaimed  Bear,  and  rushed  out  before  Ma 
chere  mere  could  call  him  back,  like  a  bomb  through  the 
open  door,  to  meet  his  beloved  brother.  She  shook  her 
head,  however,  and  looked  angry,  but  I  loved  him  all  the 
more  for  his  affection  to  his  brother. 

Behold  now  the  sister-in-law  No.  2. 

A  slight  little  figure  floated  in  petulantly,  but  gracefully ; 
tlie  eyes  half  shut ;  a  little  straw  hat  hanging  on  the  arm  ;  a 
little  cap  with  rose-coloured  ribbons  inclined  to  one  ear,  and 
kissing,  as  it  were,  on  the  other  side  several  locks  of  dark 
brown  hair  which  flowed  negligently  forth.  Her  husband 
followed  her  with  his  eyes,  whilst  he  was  stopped  in  the  door- 
way by  a  second  embrace  from  his  brother. 

Ma  chere  mere  raised  herself  majestically,  as  on  the  first 
occasion,  and  advanced  three  steps  towards  the  little  sylph ; 
but  she,  to  our  great  astonishment,  floated  past  without 
looking  up  to  her,  and  throwiug  herself  negligently  into  the 
arm-chair  from  which  Ma  chere  mere  had  the  moment  before 
risen,  exclaimed,  "  Ah,  I  am  so  fatigued,  so  fatigued,  so  warm 
that  I  must  die ;  ah  !"  whilst  the  silken  robe  which  she  wore, 
falling  open,  showed  a  fine  cambric  dress ;  and,  still  further 
tlie  very  prettiest  of  all  little  feet  and  ankles. 

O  that  you  could  have  seen  Ma  chere  mere  !  She  stood 
as  if  thunderstruck;  whilst  Peter,  rushing  forward,  seized 
Ebba's  hand,  and  endeavouring  to  raise  her  from  the  chair, 
whispered,  "  Ebba,  in  Heaven's  name,  bethink  thee !  Ebba,  it 
is  Ma  chere  mere." 

"Heavens!"  exclaimed  Ebba,  like  one  wakened  out  of  a 
dream,  and  looked  up  with  a  pair  of  beautiful  brown  eyes  to 
the  great  lady,  just  as  people  look  up  to  a  church  steeple. 
Ma  chere  mere,  on  her  side,  approached  her  with  a  coun- 
tenance that  seemed  to  express,  "  Whatever  sort  of  an  extra- 
ordinary little  creature  are  you  ?" 

As  the  two  were  about  to  meet,  Ebba  snatched  her  hand 
suddenly  from  her  husband's,  and  springing  upon  a  chair 
threw  both  her  arms  round  Ma  chere  mere's  neck,  and  kissed 
her  witli  all  the  grace  and  freedom  of  a  child.  This  seemed 
to  make  a  peculiar  impression  on  the  elder  lady,  who,  grasping 


FRANSISKA  WEKNER  TO  MARIA  M. 


79 


her  little  person  in  both  her  large  hands,  placed  her  like  a 
child  in  her  arms,  and  carried  her  under  the  chandelier,  whicli 
was  then  lit  up  with  the  beams  of  the  setting  sun,  and  con- 
templated the  cherub's  head  surrounded  with  light.  Ebba 
laughed,  and  we  all  w^ere  obliged  to  laugh  too,  whilst  Ma 
chere  mere's  loud  "ha!  ha!  ha!"  resounded  above  all.  She 
patted  and  pinched  the  cheeks  of  the  ill-trained  but  lovely 
young  creature,  till  her  fine  dark  eyebrows  contracted  them- 
selves, and  she  exclaimed  again  and  again,  "  Let  me  go  !" 
But  Ma  chere  mere,  who  wished  somewhat  to  punish  her 
jested  still  with  her  as  people  jest  with  a  child  ;  but  at  length, 
as  tears  filled  her  eyes,  she  shook  her  friendlily  by  the  hand, 
kissed  her  forehead,  and  saluted  Peter  with  the  words  : 

"  Chastise  your  wife,  my  dear  son,  otherwise  she  will 
chastise  you." 

Ebba  greeted  me  most  ungraciously,  never  once  looked  at 
Bear  ;  but  throwing  herself  feet  and  all  on  a  sofa,  looked 
through  the  room,  and  on  the  company,  with  an  air  of  indif- 
ference. Ma  chere  mere  made  no  remark,  but  saw  all  this 
with  a  certain  bitterness  of  mien  whicb,  according  to  my 
thought,  seemed  to  say,  "  We  shall  soon  bring  you  into  order, 
little  malapert." 

Notwithstanding  all  this,  Ebba  is  from  head  to  foot  the 
very  prettiest  little  creature  that  I  ever  saw.  She  resembles 
more  a  fairy  than  a  human  being ;  but  her  countenance  is 
somewhat  disfigured  by  an  expression  of  superciliousness 
and  pertness,  which  especially  plays  around  the  little  saucy 
mouth  and  the  dilated  nostril.  It  is  true  that  she  is  very 
young,  but  she  seems  to  me  to  be  one  of  those  young  crea- 
tures who  are  particularly  hard  to  train.  Bear  seemed  to 
think  the  same,  and  looked  upon  her  and  Peter  with  a 
troubled  air.  Peter,  to  all  appearance,  is  desperately  in  love 
with  his  little  humoursome  wife,  w^ho,  on  her  part,  does  not 
appear  to  trouble  herself  particularly  about  him  ;  nor  does  it 
seem  extraordinary  that  he  has  not  inspired  love  in  such  a 
young,  childish  creature.  Peter  is  singularly  plain  in  person  ; 
has  a  very  large  nose,  and  his  yellow-grey  hair  stands  towards 
all  points  of  the  compass.  In  manner,  he  is  taciturn  and  re- 
S(Tved  ;  yet  his  eyes,  which  are  handsome,  have  an  expression 
which  is  speaking,  and  full  of  soul.  He  sate  the  whole  even- 
iug  as  if  sunk  into  himself;  pressed  Bear's  hand  xunetime^, 


80 


THE  NEIGHBOURS. 


and  glanced  often  at  his  wife,  who  lay  on  the  sofa  and  slept. 
The  evening  would  have  been  very  tedious  had  it  not  been  for 
Jean  Jacques,  who,  having  travelled  abroad  but  a  short  time 
before,  related  to  us  various  and  very  interesting  accounts  of 
mechanical  and  industrial  undertakings  >,  such  as  railroads, 
the  Thames  Tunnel,  etc.  Jean  Jacques,  unlike  Peter,  is  very 
good-looking  ;  has  the  power  of  being  amusing  ;  and  appears 
to  be  full  of  life  and  knowledge.  Ma  chere  mere  was  greatly 
pleased  with  his  narratives  ;  and  all,  indeed,  listened  to  them 
with  the  greatest  interest,  so  much,  in  fact,  on  my  part,  that 
I  was  sorry  when  supper  was  announced. 

On  the  announcement  of  supper  we  all  turned  towards 
Ebba,  who,  indescribably  pretty,  lay  asleep  on  the  sofa,  like 
a  rosebud  folded  in  leaves.  I  said  something  of  the  kind  as 
we  stood  round  her,  and  was  thanked  by  her  husband  with 
one  of  his  fine  glances  ;  then  bending  over  her,  he  kissed  her 
cheek  in  order  to  wake  her,  saying,  "  Ebba,  my  angel,  rise !" 

"  Why  cannot  you  let  me  rest  in  quiet  ?  How  unbearable 
you  are!"  was  her  loving  reply;  and  she  would  have  com- 
posed herself  anew  to  sleep  had  not  Ma  chere  mere  elevated 
her  strong  voice. 

"  My  dear  child,"  said  she,  "  hear !  if  you  are  not  ready  to 
come  wifch  us  to  table  this  moment  you  will  have  nothing  to 
eat.  Don't  imagine  that  anybody  will  give  themselves 
trouble  on  your  account." 

The  little  one  opened  her  eyes  in  the  greatest  astonish- 
ment, raised  herself,  and  without  another  word  Ma  chere 
mere  took  her  hand  and  led  her  into  the  dining-room.  Ebba 
allowed  herself  to  be  led,  but  with  a  look  of  indescribable  ill- 
humour.  Ma  chere  mere,  however,  was  extremely  amiable 
towards  her,  seated  her  by  her,  and  showed  her  a  thousand 
little  attentions.  There  was  something  so  irresistibly  incit- 
ing in  Ma  chere  mere's  friendliness  that  even  Ebba  yielded, 
like  the  rose  to  the  rays  of  the  sun ;  the  ill-humoured  counte- 
nance vanished,  and  gave  place  to  one  which  was  joyful  and 
amiable ;  and  then,  indeed,  she  became  unspeakably  lovely, 
and  her  little  Love's-head  appeared  quite  bewitching.  She 
ate,  laughed,  and  chatted  with  Ma  chere  mere,  who  was 
much  occupied  with  her.  Peter  looked  quite  happy ;  Jean 
Jacques  talked  with  Tuttin,  who  looked  no  less  happy,  about 
genuine  English  roast  beef  and  Erench  omelette  souffle.  I 


FEANSISKA.  WERNER  f O  MARIA  M. 


81 


kept  up  a  continued  conversation  with  Jane  Marie,  whose 
obliging  demeanour  and  agreeable  style  of  conversation 
pleased  me  more  and  more  ;  Bear  sate  silent  near  his  brother^ 
and  looked  dissatisfied. 

At  the  conclusion  of  the  meal,  Ma  chere  mere  ordered  a 
steaming  bowl  of  punch  to  be  brought  in,  filled  the  glasses 
for  us  all,  and  gave  a  sign  with  the  hand  for  the  servants  to 
withdraw.  We  all  at  once  became  suddenly  silent,  as  if  ex- 
pecting something  extraordinary ;  and  Ma  chere  mere,  after 
'she  had  cleared  her  throat,  raised  her  sonorous  voice,  and 
spoke  with  earnestness  and  strength  to  the  following  efiect : 

"  Mt  Sons  and  Daughters, 

"  I  win  say  this  to  you,  because  I  see  you  all  here  as- 
sembled round  my  table  and  in  my  house  for  the  first  time  ; 
I  will  say  this  to  you,  my  children,  because  I  stiU  wish  to  see 
you  often  here,  as  three  united  and  happy  families. 

"  In  an  old  regulation  for  soldiers,  which  was  in  possession 
of  my  deceased  husband.  General  Mansfelt,  it  was  said  that 
only  in  the  moment  when  the  fight  commenced  should  the 
order  be  given  to  the  troops,  and  this  order  consisted  but  of 
three  words — *  Do  your  best !' 

"This  rule  may  also  be  of  some  value  to  the  married. 
Books  of  education,  the  advice  of  fathers  and  mothers,  the 
precepts  of  teachers,  continue  to  the  altar  of  Hymen ;  but 
there  they  aU  pause,  and  merely  say  to  the  wedded  pair — 
*  Do  your  best !'  After  this,  truly,  it  is  not  an  easy  task  to 
give  counsel.  Every  marriage  has  its  own  freemasonry,  the 
one  unlike  the  other,  with  which  it  is  not  well  for  the  un- 
initiated to  meddle.  But  some  good  advice,  my  children,  you 
may  listen  to  with  profit  from  an  old  lady  who  has  seen  some 
little  of  the  world,  and  who  has  had  some  little  experience  in 
the  freemasonry  of  married  life  ;  and  if  you,  in  your  married 
career,  profit  by  these  counsels,  it  wiU  be  well  for  you. 
Thus— 

"  If,  my  children,  you  would  be  happy,  avoid  sour  looks 
and  changeful  humours.  By  these  people  entice  Satan  into 
their  houses.  '  A  little  cloud,'  says  the  proverb,  '  can  hide 
both  sun  and  moon.'  Yes,  my  daughters,  guard  against  what 
may  be  called  *  bad  weather'  in  the  house  ;  and  you,  my  sons, 

r 


82 


THE  NEIGHBOUES. 


take  heed  that  you  are  not  the  November  stoim  that  calls  it 
there. 

"  Eemember  what  the  proverb  says :  '  Peace  mendeth, 
strife  rendeth.'  I  have,  my  children,  seen  that  among  you 
already  which  I  do  not  like — yes,  I  have  seen  it.  But  I  hope 
it  will  all  pass  by,  and  be  amended :  therefore  I  will  say  no 
more  about  it. 

"  Deceive  not  one  another  in  small  things  nor  in  great. 
One  little  single  lie  has,  before  now,  disturbed  a  whole 
married  life.  A  small  cause  has  often  great  consequences. 
Fold  not  the  hands  together  and  sit  idle — '  Laziness  is  the 
devil's  cushion.'  Do  not  run  much  from  home.  '  He  who  is 
not  missed  is  never  wanted.'  *  One's  own  hearth  is  gold's 
worth ;'  remember  that  '  early  weed  is  sour  feed.' 

"  Many  a  marriage,  my  friends,  which  begins  like  the  rosy 
morning,  falls  away  like  a  snow-wreath.  And  why,  my 
friends  ?  Because  the  married  pair  neglect  to  be  as  well- 
pleasing  to  each  other  after  marriage  as  before.  Endeavour 
always  to  please  one  another,  my  children  ;  but  at  the  same 
time,  keep  God  in  your  thoughts.  Lavish  not  all  your  love 
on  to-day,  for  remember  that  marriage  has  its  to-morrow 
likewise,  and  its  day  after  to-morrow  too.  Spare,  as  one  may 
say,  fael  for  the  winter. 

"  Consider,  my  daughters,  what  the  word  housewife*  ex- 
presses. The  married  woman  is  her  husband's  domestic 
faith :  in  her  hands  he  must  be  able  to  confide  house  and 
family ;  be  able  to  entrust  to  her  the  key  of  his  heart,  and 
the  padlock  of  his  store-room.  His  honour  and  his  home 
are  under  her  keeping  :  his  well-being  is  in  her  hand.  Think 
of  this ! 

"  And  you,  my  sons,  be  faithful  husbands  and  good  fathers 
of  families.  Act  so  that  your  wives  shall  esteem  and  love 
you. 

"  And  what  more  shall  I  say  to  you,  my  chiidren  ?  Eead 
the  Word  of  God  industriously ;  that  will  conduct  you 
through  storm  and  calm,  and  safely  bring  you  to  the  haven 
at  last.  And  for  the  remainder,  do  your  best !  I  have  done 
mine.    God  help  and  bless  you  altogether  !" 

With  these  words  she  extended  her  arms  as  if  to  bless  us, 
•  Housewife,  in  Swedish  Hustru;  that  is,  derivatively  the  house-faith  or  trust 


FSA^^SISKA  WEKNEE  TO  MABIA  M. 


83 


aiade  a  solemn  greeting  with  tte  head,  and  emptied  her  glasis 
to  the  bottom. 

Ebba  was  insolent  enough  to  let  a  very  genteel  yawn  be 
audible,  nor  did  she  even  raise  her  glass,  but  reclining  back- 
ward in  the  chair,  closed  her  eyes.  Jane  Marie  emptied 
hers  with  a  very  becoming  air,  I  had  at  the  beginning  of  tho 
speech  difficulty  to  refrain  from  smiling  at  the  ugly  grimace  a 
which  Bear  continued  to  make,  but  by  degrees  the  earnestness 
and  energy  of  Ma  chere  mere's  words  took  hold  of  me,  Bear 
became  still,  and  by  the  time  the  speech  was  ended  our  eyes 
met,  and  we  heartily  drank  to  each  other  and  to  Ma  chere 
mere. 

When  the  skal  was  drunk,  Ma  chere  mere  rung  upon  a  glass 
with  a  knife.  The  servants  entered,  and  taking,  with  the 
stifFest  general's  mien,  the  arm  of  Lagman  Hok,  she  ordered 
us  to  pass  two  and  two  before  her — ^mustered  us,  as  it  were. 
In  passing  her  she  clapped  me  on  the  shoulder,  and  said, 
*  Ton  are  yet  the  least!"  (This  is  not  true,  since  I  have 
measured  myself  with  Ebba,  and  am  half  a  head  taller  than 
she,  but  Ma  chere  mere  has  pleasure  in  jesting  with  me.) 
Ebba,  however,  would  not  arrange  herself  according  to  com- 
mand, would  walk  by  herself ;  and  in  order  to  escape  from 
her  husband,  she  skipped  like  a  bird  round  about  us,  and 
among  us.  Ma  chere  mere  closed  the  procession  with 
Lagman  Hok. 

We  sate  chatting  for  some  time  after  supper,  and  then  Ma 
chere  mere  conducted  the  young  people  to  their  rooms.  I 
followed,  and  Lars  Anders  also,  who  would  not  be  left  out 
in  anything.  Ebba's  good-humour  continued,  but  it  exhibited 
itself  in  laughter  and  jests  over  the  old-fashioned  furniture  ; 
on  which  a<3count  Ma  chere  mere  read  her  a  grave  lecture,  to 
which  the  strange  youug  creature  listened  attentively,  and 
when  it  was  ended  kissed  her  hand  and  curtseyed  with  comics 
humihty.  She  is  a  sweet,  but  totally  spoiled  child,  and 
appears  singularly  ill-calculated  for  the  wife  of  the  grave,  quiet 
Peter.  Jane  Maria,  on  the  contrary,  seemed  perfectly  satisfied 
vvith  everything,  and  remarked  my  flowers  with  delight ;  in 
fact,  showing  by  her  rational,  well-bred  behaviour  a  perfect 
contrast  to  the  eccentric  wildness  of  Ebba.  Ma  chere  mere 
^as  in  high  good-humour,  and  jested  with  us  aU,  if  not  in  the 
most  refined  manner,  yet  certainly  with  great  wit.    There  ifc. 

3r2 


84 


THE  NEIGHBOUES. 


gometliing  peculiar  aoout  her,  which  captivates  every  one.  1 
observed  also  this  evening,  how,  through  her  clear-headed, 
unequivocal  arrangements,  she  gives  satisfaction  and  security 
to  all  around  her.  Thus  she  immediately  assigned  to  every 
one  of  us  our  places,  and  one  soon  finds  the  advantage  of 
regulating  oneself  according  to  her  rules. 

Ma  chere  mere  invited  Bear  and  me  to  dine  the  next  day 
with  the  family.  I  was  glad  of  it,  for  I  wish  to  see  them 
intimately.  I  anticipate  for  myself  a  friend  in  Jane  Marie, 
and  my  heart  covets  female  friends ;  for  since  I  have  lost 
you,  Maria,  I  am  conscious  of  a  great  want  in  my  life,  which 
writing  cannot  supply ;  and  ff  I  won  Jane  Marie's  love,  I 
should  not  have  the  less  friendship  for  you. 

But  to  return  to  the  last  evening,  to  Bear,  to  Eosenvik. 
Arrived  there,  I  imparted  to  him  my  remarks  on  brothers 
and  sisters-in-law.  But  he  was  so  deep  in  one  reflection,  that 
he  only  replied  to  all  I  said  with  a  sigh,  and  the  words  "  Poor 
Peter!" 

Somewhat  impatient  over  the  everlasting  "Poor  Peter!" 
I  said  at  length,  "  Well  then,  Peter  must  act  wisely,  like  a 
certain  Bear ;  he  must  improve  his  wife  by  kindness  and 
reason,  and  then  he  must  submit  himself  to  her  tyranny." 
Bear  looked  kindly  at  me,  said  pretty  things  to  me,  but  then 
after  all  wound  up  with  the  words  "  Poor  Peter !" 

He  has  a  sort  of  hatred  of  Ebba ;  calls  her  a  witch,  and 
will  not  even  admit  that  she  is  beautiful :  on  the  contrary, 
Jane  Marie  pleases  him  as  much  as  she  pleases  me. 

I  go  now  to  dress  for  dinner,  and  send  you  a  thousand 
kisses  with  my  letter. 


CHAPTEE  IV. 

Eosenvik,  June  21st. 

The  dinner  went  off  very  well  yesterday.  Ma  chere  mere 
was  cheerful  and  kind.  Ebba  well-mannered,  and  unspeak- 
ably lovely  ;  Jane  Marie  perfectly  elegant  and  well-dressed ; 
yet  I  could  have  desired  a  little  more  freedom,  and  have 
wished  also  the  large  sevigne  away  from  the  forehead,  for 
nothing  pleases  me  which  overshadows  the  brow.  Jean 
Jacques  was  entertaining  with  his  interesting  relations. 
Lagman  Hok,  however,  poured  half  a  caraft  of  water  ovet 


FKAKSISKA  WERJfER  TO  MARIA  M.  85 

tte  table,  which  greatly  embarrassed  him,  so  much  so  indeed 
that  some  time  afterwards,  when  Jean  Jacques  was  describing, 
with  great  energy,  a  certain  winged  steam-carriage  in  which 
people  might  travel  through  the  air,  to  which  the  Lagmau 
appeared  to  listen  with  the  most  fixed  attention,  thereby 
animating  Jean  Jacques  to  extraordinary  energy,  he  suddenly 
interrupted  him  with  the  question,  "  Pardon  me,  Mr.  Baron, 
but  of  which  caraft  were  you  speaking?"  at  which  Ma  chere 
mere  laughed,  and  Jean  Jacques  looked  annoyed. 

Jean  Jacques  talks  a  great  deal.  To-day,  I  found  it  some- 
what wearying,  especially  after  dinner.  At  length  I  heard 
only  a  continued  hum,  out  of  which  the  words — Eailroad, 
Manchester,  Tunnel,  Steam-engine,  Penny  Magazine,  alone 
struck  my  ear.  The  more  Jean  Jacques  described,  the 
sleepier  I  became,  and  at  length  he  fairly  gave  up  his  un- 
worthy listener.  But  a  singular  occurrence  speedily  awoke 
me  out  of  my  drowsiness. 

Ma  chere  mere  was  sitting  on  the  sofa  arranging  the  well- 
used  patience-cards  for  the  blockade  of  Copenhagen;  Lag- 
man  Hok  was  sitting  near  her,  taking  snuff ;  Jane  Marie  was 
lecturing  Ebba,  who  had  no  doubt  much  need  of  it,  but  who 
seemed  to  profit  little  by  it ;  and  a  young  servant  was  hand- 
ing about  coffee,  when  Jean  Jacques  exclaimed,  "  Heavens 
how  like  he  is  to  Bruno !" 

AH  at  once  Ma  chere  mere's  patience-table  received  a 
blqw  which  sent  it  with  the  blockade  of  Copenhagen  spinning 
to  the  floor;  yet  no  one  looked  at  anything  but  Ma  chere 
mere.  She  at  first  became  deadly  pale,  and  then  grew  yellow. 
The  nose  was  contracted,  the  lips  blue,  and  the  breath  emitted 
with  a  strong  hissing  sound.  Then  raising  herself,  like  a  fer- 
menting billow,  she  shook  threateningly  her  clenched  fist  at 
Jean  J acques,  while  the  eyes  seemed  starting  wildly  from  her 
head,  and  the  slurka  seemed  to  lift  itself  aloft  on  her  hair. 
J ean  Jacques  also  grew  pale,  and  drew  himself  back.  It  was 
terrible  to  see  her ;  and  I  awaited,  almost  breathless,  some 
fearful  catastrophe.  But  she  stood  as  if  stiffened  into  that 
threatening  attitude,  immovable  and  speechless,  as  if  under 
the  spell  of  a  terrible  enchantment,  or  as  if  some  horror- 
exciting  ghost  had  been  conjured  up  before  her.  Por  a  long 
time  she  stood  thus ;  and  only  the  wild,  audible  breathing 


THE  KEIGHBOFES. 


re  evidence  of  tlie  strong  inward  emotion, — ^rage  or  agony, 
I  knew  not  which. 

Whilst  I  gazed  npon  her  thns,  my  terror  changed  into 
anguish  of  heart,  and  I  was  about  to  hasten  to  her  when 
Bear  held  me  back  ;  and  whilst  he  threw  his  arm  round  my 
waist  to  detain  me,  he  himself  sat  still  and  attentively  ob- 
served her.  'No  one  approached  her ;  and  after  a  few  mo- 
ments  the  fearful  emotion  passed  off  by  itself.  The  clenched 
hand  sunk  ;  the  colour  of  Hfe  returned  to  the  countenance, 
and  the  blue  lips  and  her  eyes  grew  milder ;  she  breathed 
deeply  several  times,  always  lower,  as  if  she  sighed,  and  then, 
without  speaking  a  word,  or  even  looking  round  on  any  one, 
passed,  with  slow  steps,  from  the  room,  closing  the  door  after 
her.  Notwithstanding  this  I  would  have  fofiowed,  had  not 
Bear  restrained  me  ;  but  seeing  me  restless  and  excited,  he 
took  me  aside,  and  in  a  few  words  gave  an  explanation  of 
this  extraordinary  and  painful  scene. 

"  Ma  chere  mere,"  said  he,  "  had  herself  one  son,  called 
Bruno." 

"  And  is  he  dead  ?"  interrupted  I,  interrogatively. 
"  Yes." 

"  And  on  this  account,"  asked  I,  astonished,  "  can  his 
name  and  the  remembrance  of  him  agitate  her  so  much  ?" 

"  Not  merely  on  that  account,"  he  replied ;  "  he  occa- 
sioned her  great  sorrow,  and  everything  that  reminds  her  of 
him,  especially  the  pronouncing  his  name,  agitates  her  thus 
powerfully.  But  one  must  allow  these  outbreaks  to  pass 
over  unobserved ;  they  pass  over  quickest  when  she  is  left 
entirely  to  herself." 

"  But  what  became  of  her  son  ?"  I  asked. 

"  It  is  a  long  history,"  he  replied  ;  "  I  will  teU  you  another 
time,  Fanny." 

"  Another  time  is  a  villain !"  said  I.  "  I  hate  another 
time  !    I  can  wait  no  longer  than  this  evening,  Bear." 

"  Well  then,"  said  he,  "  this  evening.  But  we  must  not 
longer  stand  whispering  here." 

As  we  returned  to  the  company,  we  found  Lagman  Hok 
yitting  on  the  sofa  at  the  patience-table,  endeavouring  to  re- 
arrange the  pieces  exactly  as  they  were  before  they  were 
upset,  that  Ma  chere  mere^  on  her  return,  might  not,  by  an^ 


TEAIS^SISKA  WEENEE  TO  MAEIA  M. 


87 


circumstance,  be  reminded  of  the  scene  which  had  just 
occurred.  "When  he  had  succeeded  in  arranging  the  pieces, 
he  took  snufF,  and  sneezed  nine  times  successively,  which 
convulsed  Ebba  with  laughter.  His  solicitude  for  Ma  chere 
mere  affected  me ;  such  attention  is  amiable.  So  ought 
friends  to  have  care  one  for  another. 

I  beheve  I  have  never  sketched  the  Lagman's  portrait. 
Behold  it  then  done  hastily.  He  may  be  probably  sixty 
years  of  age,  is  thin  and  tall,  has  long  feet,  long  hands,  a 
long  neck,  and  a  long  countenance,  in  which  traces  of  small- 
pox and  furrows  leave  no  beauty,  till  you  pass  over  a  great 
hooked  nose,  and  meet  with  a  pair  of  eyes  which  have  in  their 
deep  sockets  a  quiet,  kind,  and  pleasant  expression.  They 
remind  one  of  the  impression  made  upon  one  by  the  friendly 
shimmering  light  seen  through  the  windows  of  a  hostel  on  a 
cold  autumn  evening.  He  seems  as  if  he  had  a  peg  in  every 
limb,  and  never  did  I  see  so  long  and  stiff  a  back  as  his  !  I 
never  can  see  him  without  wondering  how  he  ever  can  be  sus- 
pected of  poetical  fancies.  Ma  chere  mere,  however,  has 
firm  faith  on  this  point.  Eor  the  rest  I  can  say  little,  as, 
excepting  with  Ma  chere  mere,  he  seldom  speaks  with  any 
one.  His  voice,  his  whole  demeanour,  is  soft ;  yet,  although  he 
is  so  quiet  and  silent,  one  can  never  forget  that  he  is  in  the 
room  ;  for,  excellent  man  as  he  certainly  is,  he  takes  such  an 
immense  quantity  of  snuff,  that  heaps  of  it  lie  where  he  has 
been  sitting.    Yet,  after  all,  there  is  no  harm  in  that ! 

Whilst  Lagman  Hok  laid  the  patience  in  order,  and  Jane 
Marie,  Jean  J acques,  and  I,  were  talking  of  music,  Ebba  had 
opportunity  to  exhibit  her  good  breeding.  In  the  first  place, 
she  drew  the  needles  out  of  my  stocking,  overturned  Lagman 
Hok's  snuff-box,  and,  after  other  misdemeanours,  crept  be- 
hind Bear  and  Peter,  who  had  laid  their  heads  together  in  a 
deep  conversation,  and  sewed  their  coat-laps  together.  The 
good  brothers  foreboded  nothing  wrong,  neither  did  I,  who, 
wishing  to  take  advantage  of  the  fine  weather,  proposed  a 
walk,  to  which  all  consented,  and  both  stood  up,  when  ratsch ! 
kratsch !  resounded  it,  and  the  two  coat-laps  were  violently 
torn  asunder.  Bear  gave  a  desperate  leap,  and  made  the 
most  horrific  of  grimaces.  It  was  impossible  for  me  to  avoid 
xoud  laughter ;  and,  in  a  paroxysm  of  childish  delight,  Ebba 
threw  herself  on  the  sofa.    Peter  seemed  not  to  know  how 


8S 


THE  Is'EIGHBOrES. 


to  take  tlie  affair ;  and  Bear,  who  at  first  was  irritated  against 
both  Ebba  and  me,  I  believe,  swore  good-hnmouredly  at  us 
both.  Jane  Marie  shook  her  head,  and  yet  laughed ;  but 
afterwards,  as  she  sate  down  to  her  beautiful  tapestry,  and 
saw  that  there  also  Ebba  had  been  at  work,  she  became 
quite  red,  and,  casting  a  stern  glance  upon  her,  said  some- 
thing in  a  very  bitter  tone  about  "  unpardonable  imperti- 
nence." And,  certainly,  it  is  provoking  to  have  a  beautiful 
piece  of  work  so  disarranged.  It  was  easier  for  me  to  con- 
sole myself  for  my  drawn-out  knitting  needles. 

"Whilst  Lagman  Hok  sate  quite  still,  endeavouring  to  col- 
lect together  his  snuff,  I  proposed  the  walk  anew.  All  as- 
sented, excepting  Ebba,  who,  lying  negligently  on  the  sofa, 
declared  that,  as  long  as  she  remained  in  the  country,  she 
would  never  set  her  foot  out  of  doors ;  that  she  abominated 
country  dust  and  country  roads,  and  that  green  was  injurious 
to  her  eyes,  etc.  In  vain  we  tried  to  persuade  her ;  in  vain 
Jane  Marie  talked  to  her  of  her  childish  folly.  She  con- 
tinued wilfully  adhering  to  her  determination,  and  Peter — 
stopped  at  home  with  her.  And  now,  like  my  husband,  I 
must  sigh  to  myself  "  Poor  Peter!" 

Lagman  Hok  also  remained  still  sitting  where  he  was, 
probably  waiting  the  return  of  his  friend ;  and,  under  pre- 
tence of  fetching  a  shawl,  I  stole  to  the  door  of  Ma  chere 
mere's  chamber,  and  listened  there  full  of  restless  s^onpathy. 
I  could  hear  that  she  had  violent  vapours,  with  long  spasmodic 
yawnings,  and,  greatly  relieved  on  her  account,  followed  my 
party  on  their  walk. 

The  weather  was  lovely.  Jean  Jacques  talked  with  his 
brother  of  the  new  arrangements  he  intended  to  make  on  the 
estate,  and  blamed  Ma  chere  mere's  old-fashioned  manage- 
ment ;  to  which  the  other  replied  by  a  variety  of  wry  faces, 
,  and  by  puffing  prodigious  volumes  of  smoke  out  of  his  pipe. 

Jane  Marie  and  I  fell  into  discourse  on  Bulwer's  and  Miss 
\  Martineau's  excellent  novels,  which  gave  me  pleasure.  I 
found  her  well-read,  and  acquainted  with  several  languages, 
whereupon  we  agreed  to  read  together  Dante's  Commedia 
Divina.    That  will  be  charming ! 

Whilst  we  were  rejoicing  on  this  subject,  we  turned  into  a 
lovely  wood-path  by  a  mill,  the  rushing  of  whose  waters  we 
had  beard  throuejh  the  wood,  when  suddenly  I  became  aware 


FRAT^SISltA  WERxVER  TO  MARIA  M.  SO 

of  an  object  which  made  me  pause  and  pluck  Bear  by  tlio 
sleeve,  to  make  him  observant  of  the  same.  All  stood  still, 
and  looked  to  the  left,  where  the  sun  shone  upon  an  open 
green  space.  A  man  of  a  strong,  almost  athletic  figure,  in  a 
dark,  handsome  riding-dress,  vras  passing  under  the  oaks 
which  grew  there.  He  passed  slowly,  his  arms  crossed  over 
his  breast,  and  his  head  depressed,  as  if  in  deep  thought. 
Near,  or,  more  correctly  speaking,  behind  him,  went  a  hand- 
some, glossy  black  horse,  whose  bridle  was  richly  set  with 
studs  of  silver.  The  rein  hung  loose,  and  the  beautiful  head 
now  bent  itself  to  the  grass,  and  now  caressingly  raised  itself 
to  the  shoulder  of  its  master,  who  appeared  accustomed  to 
this,  and  left  his  faithful  attendant  at  full  liberty. 

"We  had  only  a  glimpse  of  the  man's  profile,  for  he  was 
passing  from  us,  but  it  gave  us  the  augury  of  a  dark,  gloomy 
countenance.  Thus  went  man  and  horse  onward,  in  friendly 
peace  with  each  other,  deeper  into  the  wood,  and  vanished  at 
last  from  our  view.  But  our  conjectures  followed  him,  and 
we  came  to  the  fixed  and  unanimous  conclusion  that  we  had 
seen  the  so-much-spoken-of  mysterious  neighbour  at  Kamm. 
And  now,  whether  he  be  called  Eomulus,  or  Eomanus,  whe- 
ther he  may  justify  Mrs.  von  P.'s  romance  or  not,  this  is 
certain,  that  his  appearance  before  us,  and  his  exterior,  had  a 
truly  romantic  air.  I  confess  that  I  am  quite  curious  to 
see  more  of  him,  for  I  am  convinced  that  if  I  could  only  see 
him  face  to  face,  I  should  immediately  be  able  to  say  whether 
he  be  a  spy,  or  merely  a  good  sort  of  fellow  who  is  tired  of 
himself ;  whether  he  be  a  Don  Miguel  or  a  Howard,  as  the 
account  we  heard  of  him  at  the  Dahls  might  lead  me  to 
suspect. 

When  we  returned  to  the  house,  after  about  an  hour's 
wandering,  we  found  Ma  chere  mere  sitting  in  the  drawing- 
room  by  her  patience-table,  and  Lagman  Hok  beside  her,  all 
looking  as  if  nothing  remarkable  had  happened,  except  that 
Ma  chere  mere's  countenance  was  unusually  pale  and  grave 
She  motioned  to  us  kindly  on  our  entrance,  but  spoke  with 
no  one.  Tuttin  gave  us  tea,  and  then  Jane  Marie  sate  down 
to  the  piano,  and  played  a  heavy  piece  from  Herz,  more  diffi- 
cult, as  it  seemed  to  me,  than  beautiful.  But  how  she  plays ! 
she  is  a  perfect  mistress  of  the  piano ;  the  only  pity  is,  that 
she  has  no  voice,  else  we  would  sing  together ;  but,  however, 


90 


THE  NEIGHBOUES. 


she  can  accompany  me.  I  am  fortunate  in  htcving  her  for  a 
sister-in-law:  what  a  difference  between  her  and  Ebba , 
Ebba,  however,  through  the  whole  of  the  evening  was 
amiable,  excepting  that  she  insisted  on  everybody  dancing, 
and  as  nobody  showed  an  inclination  for  this,  she  began  to 
dance  by  herself  in  the  next  room,  and  sang  the  while  very 
prettily.  Peter  devoured  her  with  his  eyes  ;  and  I  wondered 
not  at  it,  for  she  is  a  little  Grace,  when  she  is  gentle  and 
good-humoured.  Partly  to  please  her,  and  partly  led  by  a 
secret  desire  for  dancing  myself,  I  enticed,  after  a  few 
minutes,  company  to  her.  "We  led  in  Jean  Jacques,  and  at 
last  Peter,  and  danced  for  a  while  in  the  gaiety  of  our  hearts, 
to  her  indescribable  joy. 

But  in  a  while  the  gentlemen  grew  tired  and  left  us,  and 
then  Ebba,  seating  herself  in  a  corner  of  the  sofa  near  me, 
began  to  tell  of  all  the  balls  of  the  former  winter  which  she 
had  attended  in  Stockholm,  and  how  she  was  dressed,  and 
how  often,  especially  by  this  person  and  the  other,  she  was 
engaged  to  dance,  till  an  irresistible  fit  of  yawning  seized 
me,  and  would  soon  have  conducted  me  to  the  arms  of  sleep, 
had  not  an  overloud  talking  in  the  ante-room  made  me  in- 
terrupt Ebba's  discourse,  in  order  to  hasten  there. 

Ma  chere  mere  played  Boston,  with  Jane  Marie,  Lagman 
Hok,  and  Bear ;  and  was  now  angry  with  Jane  Marie,  who, 
as  I  suppose,  played  better  than  I,  and  some  way  or  other 
had  made  Ma  chere  mere  bete.  I  only  heard  the  words^ 
"  How  can  you  think  of  not  following,  when  you  have  four 
trumps  and  the  king  of  spades  in  hand  ?" 

"  I  don't  think  of  following,"  replied  Jane  Marie,  in  a 
tone  of  vexation,  "  when  I  see  that  I  cannot  make  my 
play." 

"  And  on  that  account  I  am  to  become  bete,"  said  Ma 
chere  mere,  angrily ;  "  and  I  was  renonce  in  clubs,  and  you 
in  diamonds !" 

They  were  quite  at  strife ;  but  this  scene  was  interrupted 
by  the  entrance  of  the  book-keeper,  who  came  in  to  complain 
of  two  stable  boys,  who  refused  to  obey  his  commands.  Ma 
chere  mere  allowed  him  to  state  distinctly  the  nature  of  hia 
commands,  and  the  refusal  of  the  boys  ;  and  as  this  evidenced 
great  frowardness  on  their  parts,  her  countenance  becamo 
severe,  and  she  started       hastily.    Jean  Jacques  stood  up 


FEAJs'SlSEA  WERNER  TO  MARIA  M. 


01 


also ;  but  she  motioned  him  down  again,  went  out,  and  re- 
turned ahnost  immediately  in  her  Januarius  and  cap,  and, 
accompanied  by  the  complainant,  went  off  with  great  strides 
for  the  stable. 

"  How  has  it  gone  asked  Bear,  as  in  about  ten  minutes 
she  returned,  apparently  refreshed  by  the  rectification. 

"  How  can  it  be  other  than  right  ?"  returned  she,  cheer- 
fully. "  I  gave  them  a  good  blowing-up  ;  thus  they  perceive 
whereabouts  they  are,  and  then  I  should  like  to  see  if  they 
would  dare  to  disobey : — for  the  rest,  there  was  no  dangei 
with  the  people  :  Tannerstrom  is  too  easy,  and  that  he  must 
be  told  too.  But  so  it  is  ; — all  would  use  the  axe,  but  no* 
body  fetch  the  handle;  all  would  be  masters,  but  nobody 
will  bear  the  burden." 

Supper  was  announced ;  and  she  was,  as  usual,  the  most 
polite  and  active  of  hosts.  All  trace  of  the  afternoon'^ 
scene  had  vanished. 

Late  in  the  evening,  as  we  were  once  more  in  our  quiet 
home,  T  asked  and  received  from  Bear  the  following  explana- 
tion of  the  circumstance  which  disturbed  Ma  chere  mere's 
peace,  and  here  you  have,  as  nearly  as  possible  in  his  own 
words,  a  strange  and  dark  history. 

"  Ma  chere  mere  had,  by  Greneral  Mansfelt,  one  only  son, 
who  was  called  Bruno,  after  his  father.  His  birth  nearly 
cost  the  life  of  the  mother,  and  that  which  she  had  bought 
so  dearly  was  more  precious  to  her  than  life  itself.  More 
than  once  had  she  been  seen  on  her  knees  by  his  cradle,  as 
if  worshipping  him.  Many  a  night,  when  a  slight  indispo- 
sition has  made  his  sleep  restless,  she  sate  and  watched 
silently  by  him.  She  suckled  him  herself ; — scarcely  would 
permit  any  one  beside  herself  to  nurse  him,  scarcely  to  touch 
him.  He  slept  in  her  bosom,  he  rested  on  her  knee ;  her 
arms  were  his  world,  and  they  encircled  with  undying  love 
the  early  despotic  and  wild  boy,  who  yet,  on  his  side,  hung 
on  her  neck  with  passionate  tenderness,  and  seemed  to  find 
rest  nowhere  but  upon  her  bosom.  It  was  beautiful  to  see 
them  together.  They  were  the  lioness  and  her  cub,  who, 
in  a  union  of  savage  streng-th  and  deep  tenderness,  combat 
together  and  caress  at  the  same  time.  Thus  the  relation  be- 
tween mother  and  son  was  extraordinary,  and  sometimes 
hostile,  e^en  from  the  cradle.    One  day,  as  she  laid  him,  a 


92 


THE  NEIGHBOURS. 


child  of  but  nine  months  old,  to  her  breast,  either  ia  hunger 
or  passion  he  bit  her  severely  with  his  young  coming  teeth. 
Transported  with  the  pain,  the  mother  gave  him  a  blow. 
The  child  let  go  the  breast,  and  refused  from  that  moment 
ever  to  take  it  again.  He  was  weaned;  for  the  mother 
could  not  tolerate  the  idea  of  his  being  nourished  with  the 
milk  of  a  nurse.  Afterwards,  in  his  eighth  year,  as  she 
would  have  given  him  a  well-deserved  correction,  he  turned 
like  a  young  lion,  and  struck  her. 

"  Still,  in  the  midst  of  scenes  which  exhibited  ungovern- 
able character,  instances  almost  daily  occurred  which  showed 
unlimited  power  of  self-sacrifice.  She  threw  herself  between 
him  and  every  danger ;  he  would  kiss  the  very  traces  of  her 
feet.  When  they  met,  even  after  a  short  separation,  it  was 
ever  with  an  outbreak  of  the  warmest  love ;  still  the  next 
moment,  perhaps,  they  would  be  at  strife  with  each  other. 
This  state  of  feeling  increased  with  years.  Both  were  of 
the  same  powerful,  determined  character.  They  seemed 
unable  to  live  either  together  or  apart. 

"  It  would  have  been  impossible  to  find  anywhere  a  hand- 
somer boy  than  Bruno ;  and  yet,  although  the  mother  wor- 
shipped him  in  her  heart,  her  sense  of  justice  was  so  strict 
that  she  never,  not  even  in  the  slightest  instance,  favoured 
him  to  his  step-brothers'  disadvantage.  Never,  if  he  de- 
served punishment,  was  he  spared  before  them ;  never  had  a 
preference  shown  to  him  in  regard  of  pleasure  or  reward. 
In  no  way  had  he  the  advantage  of  them,  excepting  in  the 
caresses  of  his  mother. 

"  We  were  all  brought  up  with  severity ;  and  as  regards 
money,  were  too  scantily  supplied.  Eor  myself  I  always  had 
an  inclination  towards  economy ;  nevertheless  I  was  com- 
pelled to  have  recourse  to  my  own  innocent  industry  to  sup- 

{)ly  myself  with  postage-money,  or  the  means  to  obtain  any 
ittle  outlay  which  Ma  chere  mere  considered  superfluous. 
Hence  I  became,  in  secret,  a  carpenter. 

"  Bruno  was  naturally  extravagant,  and  prone  to  dissipa- 
tion, and  very  early,  in  order  to  gratify  his  palate,  or  to  ap- 
pease his  thirst  for  pleasure,  resorted  to  less  innocent  means. 
He  purloined  what  he  could  not  obtain  voluntarily,  first 
from  his  brothers,  then  from  the  domestics.  But  no  one 
tlared  to  punish  him  for  this,  or  to  represent  it  to  his  mother 


TRAIS^SISKA  WEENER  TO  MARIA  M. 


93 


for  tlie  fiery -tempered  boy,  giffced  with  almost  herculean 
strength,  had  obtained  great  power  over  his  brothers,  and 
was  feared  not  only  by  them,  but  by  all  the  household.  He 
was  beloved  by  none,  excepting  by  me.  I  cannot  exactly  say 
what  it  was  in  him  which  captivated  me  so.  I  admired  his 
great  natural  abilities ;  his  wild  and  witty  tricks  often  de- 
coyed me  to  smile,  at  the  same  time  that  I  was  compelled  to 
blame ;  but  what  operated  most  upon  me  was,  that  he  really 
liked  me." 

Bear  said  this  with  an  agitated  voice,  remained  silent  a  few 
moments,  and  then  continued : 

"  I  must  do  him  the  justice,  however,  to  say,  that  he  never 
was  disobedient  if  people  spoke  to  him  with  reason  and  mild- 
ness. More  than  once  he  abandoned  at  my  request  un- 
worthy pursuits,  or  wept  bitterly  at  my  representations,  at 
the  same  time  that  he  confessed  his  unfortunate  first  steps 
in  the  path  of  vice. 

"  But  I  was  at  this  time  seldom  at  home.  Much  older 
than  he,  I  had  finished  my  academical  life  as  he  began  his, 
and  was  almost  always  from  home  in  the  pursuit  of  my 
medical  profession. 

"  The  influence  which  a  child,  a  little  girl,  had  over  Bruno 
from  his  thirteenth  to  his  sixteenth  year  was  very  extraor- 
dinary. This  was  that  Serena  Lofwen  with  whom  you  were 
so  greatly  pleased  the  other  day  in  the  city.  She  was  at 
that  time  a  lovely,  quiet,  but  sickly  child.  Ma  chere  mere, 
who  had  always  a  great  esteem  for  Madame  Dahl,  prevailed 
upon  her  for  three  years  to  bring  her  during  the  summer 
months  to  Eamm,  in  order,  partly  by  the  water  of  a  mineral 
spring  and  partly  by  the  fresh  country  air,  to  improve 
Serena's  health.  The  little  angel-like  child  interested  the 
wild  Bruno,  and  it  was  wonderful  to  see  what  constraint  he 
had  over  himself,  and  of  what  self-denial  he  was  capable  on 
her  account ;  how  he  left  all,  to  carry  her  out  into  the  woods 
about  Eamm  ;  to  caress  her,  or  to  sit  quietly  by  and  watch 
her  while  she  slept.  On  holidays,  or  whenever  he  had  a 
holiday,  he  went  wandering  forth  early  in  the  morning  mth 
a  basket  of  eatables  in  his  hand  and  Serena  on  his  arm,  and 
seldom  were  the  two  seen  again  before  evening.  All  this 
improved  Serena's  health,  and  softened  the  temper  of  Bruno. 
One  prayer  from  her  childish  lips,  or  her  tears,  were  to  him  a 


9\i  THE  !^ETOnBOUES. 

more  effectual  incentive  than  all  the  commands  of  his  mother 
or  of  his  teachers. 

If  this  bias  of  Bruno's  had  been  taken  advantage  of— - 
the  violent  repressed,  and  the  gentle  yielded  to — I  am  con- 
vinced that  he  would  have  become  a  good  and  distinguished 
man.  But  his  tutor,  a  person  of  rigid,  unbending  character, 
and  still  more  his  mother,  seemed  to  have  resolved  only  to 
make  use  of  power  in  the  subjection  of  his  undisciplined 
will. 

"  All  this  time  Ma  chere  mere  foreboded  not  how  perilous 
was  the  course  which  Bruno  was  pursuing,  and  I  myself 
knew  nothing  which  I  should  have  feared  so  much  as  her 
making  the  discovery — she,  so  proud,  so  sensitive  on  every 
point  of  honour,  so  rigid  in  her  principles  and  her  whole 
moral  conduct !  Bruno's  great  beauty,  his  remarkable  abili- 
ties and  natural  talents ;  his  expertness  in  all  bodily  exer- 
cises, his  courage,  nay,  even  his  overbearing  strength,  con- 
stituted her  pride,  and  made  her  eyes  sparkle  with  delight  at 
his  approach,  or  even  at  the  very  speaking  of  his  name.  To 
have  heard  anything  dishonourable  of  him  must  have  been  a 
death-blow  to  her.  Bruno,  too,  had  pride  and  sense  of 
honour,  and  the  approbation  of  his  mother  was  especially 
important  to  him;  but  his  violent  passions,  and  his  in- 
ability to  govern  them,  drew  him  perpetually  into  guilty 
conduct. 

"  But  now  came  a  time  in  which  I  passed  several  summer 
months  at  E-amm,  and  in  which,  from  what  I  saw  of  him,  I 
hoped  he  had  abandoned  his  evil  courses.  Bruno  had  been 
confirmed  in  the  spring,  and  now  appeared  unusually  mild 
and  thoughtful.  The  connexion  between  him  and  his  mother 
seemed  more  peaceful  and  affectionate  than  ever.  I  hoped 
that  Bruno  had  turned  back  for  ever  from  his  errors.  He 
himself  said  the  same  thing  to  me.  But  I  could  not  help 
soon  observing  that  he  had  his  own  private  expenses,  and 
those  to  an  extent  far  greater  than  his  own  means  ought  to 
have  allowed.  For  some  time  I  had  been  in  a  condition  to 
assist  him  with  money,  and  had  hoped  by  this  means  to  re- 
strain him,  and  prevent  its  application  to  improper  purposes. 
He  frequently  requested  money  from  me,  and  I  furnished 
him  with  as  much  as  was  in  my  power ;  but  one  day  he  r(^« 
Quested  so  laroje  a  sum  as  astonished  me,    I  refused ;  in  £aet, 


TEAls^SISKA  WEEKER  TO  MARIA  M. 


05 


I  could  not  do  otherwise,  and  at  the  same  time  reproved  hira 
for  tliis  extravagance.  Bruno  was  silent,  but  ground  his 
teeth  angrily,  and  left  me.  This  was  the  last  day  we  were 
to  spend  at  home  together.    On  the  following  we  were  both 

to  set  out,  he  for  the  University,  and  I  for  S  .  That 

forenoon  he  went  to  the  city  to  take  leave  of  the  old  Dahls, 
and  of  his  little  bride,  as  he  called  Serena.  He  was  not  ex- 
pected back  tiU  evening. 

"  Immediately  after  dinner  the  book-keeper  announced 
with  great  agitation  that  a  large  sum  of  money,  which  that 
very  morning  he  had  placed  in  his  desk,  was  gone,  and  that 
he  must  suspect  the  thief  to  be  one  of  the  household,  as  no 
one  but  those  accustomed  to  the  house  knew  where  he  was 
in  the  habit  of  keeping  his  money. 

"  It  was  the  first  time,  as  Ma  chere  mere  believed,  that 
such  a  circumstance  had  occurred  in  the  house.  She  took  up 
the  affair  with  the  greatest  warmth,  and  immediately  under* 
took  a  domiciliary  search. 

"  Accompanied  by  the  book-keeper  and  two  of  her  oldest 
and  most  faithful  servants,  she  went  through  the  whole  house, 
searched  every  corner,  and  examined  all  her  domestics  with 
the  greatest  severity ;  even  the  oldest  servants  were  com- 
pelled to  submit  to  the  search.  As  nothing  was  discovered 
anywhere,  not  even  the  slightest  trace  which  could  lead  to 
suspicion.  Ma  chere  mere  began  to  think  that  probably  the 
informer  himself  might  be  the  thief;  and  the  possessions  of 
':he  young  book-keeper,  and  even  the  clothes  which  he  wore, 
;vere  subjected  to  a  yet  more  severe  scrutiny  than  those  of 
the  others  had  been. 

"  This  young  man  was  a  personal  enemy  of  Bruno ;  and 
whether  he  really  suspected  him,  or  whether  he  spoke  in  the 
bitterness  which  Ma  chere  mere's  proceedings  towards  him 
awakened,  I  know  not,  but  he  said  with  bitter  chagrin,  '  Tour 
ladyship  may  perhaps  find  nearer  home  that  which  you  seek!" 

"  'What  do  you  mean?'  demanded  she  with  an  awful 
glance. 

"  *  Yes,'  replied  the  irritated  man,  '  that  your  ladyship  may 
find  with  your  own  flesh  and  blood,  that  for  which  you  have 
unjustly  cast  suspicions  on  innocent  persons !' 

" '  Man,  you  he !'  exclaimed  Ma  chere  mere,  pale  with 
ra£:e,  seizings  him  and  shaking  him  by  the  arm. 


96 


THE  ^^EiaflBOUBS. 


"  *  I  will  be  a  liar/  still  more  excited  and  almost  furious, 
the  other  returned,  *  if  one  of  your  own  sons  be  not  a  thief!' 

"  *  Follow  me !'  said  she ;  and  with  flashing  eyes  and  pale 
cheeks  she  betook  herself,  accompanied  by  the  book-keeper 
and  the  two  old  servants,  into  our  chamber. 

"  I  had  been  out,  and  had  only  just  returned  and  been  in- 
formed of  that  which  had  occurred,  as  Ma  chere  mere  with 
her  attendants  entered.  I  cannot  describe  the  sensation 
which  I  felt  at  that  moment :  a  foreboding  of  the  true  fact 
passed  through  me ;  I  became  pale,  and  involuntarily  seated 
myself  on  Bruno's  travelling-chest,  which  stood  by  mine, 
ready  packed  for  the  journey.  Ma  chere  mere  looked  at  me 
with  a  penetrating  glance,  started,  and  became  yet  paler. 
After  this  she  said,  with  a  firm  voice,  to  me  and  my  brothers, 
who  had  also  come  into  the  room — 

"  *  My  sons  !  For  the  honour  of  the  house  you  must  sub- 
mit to  the  same  search  to  which  all  the  rest  in  the  family 
have  been  subjected.  I  need  not  tell  you  that  all  this  is 
merely  pro  forma,  and  that  I  am  convinced  of  your  innocence.' 

"  With  this  she  cast  upon  me  a  glance  which  was  at  that 
time  inexplicable  to  me,  and  passing  over  my  chest  went  and 
sought  among  my  brother's  things.  After  this  she  returned 
to  the  room  and  opened  my  packed-up  chest.  Everything 


had  no  right  there ;  and  at  the  bottom  of  all  they  found  my 
carpenter's  tools.  When  all  had  been  examined,  Ma  chere 
mere  cast  upon  me  a  glance  full  of  maternal  love  and  joy. 
Alas !  she  had  had  suspicions  of  me — of  the  thoughtful  man, 
rather  than  the  wild  youth !  now  she  raised  her  head,  and  one 
could  read,  in  her  strong  expressive  countenance,  '  Thank 
God !    Now  I  am  easy.' 

"  *  Now  then,  there  are  only  the  things  of  the  young  Baron 
left,'  said  one  of  the  old  servants  respectfully,  '  but  the  chest 
is  locked ;  and  besides  this,  it  is  not  necessary.' 

"  *  That  may  be,'  exclaimed  Ma  chere  mere,  ^  but  he  must 
fare  like  the  rest.    The  box  shall  be  broken  open.' 

"  *  But  the  young  Baron — is  not  at  home,'  said  the  servant 
anxiously ;  '  we  cannot-  ' 

"  *  His  mother  commands  it,'  said  she,  warmly. 

"  It  was  done. 

"  With  her  own  hand  the  mother  took  out  books 


Nothing  was  found  which 


FRANSISKA  WEBNEE  TO  MAEIA  M. 


97 


clotbes,  wliicli  liad  been  thrown  in  in  great  disorder.  Presently 
the  hand  was  withdrawn,  as  if  it  had  been  burned  by  red-hot 
iron ;  she  had  stumbled  upon  a  bundle  of  notes.  It  was  the 
jiissmg  money.  She  took  it  out ;  turned  it  about  in  her 
hand ;  examined  it,  as  if  she  could  not  believe  her  own  eyes  ; 
grew  paler  and  paler ;  and  then  a  cry  of  inexpressible  anguish 
rose  from  her  breast :  '  My  blood !'  exclaimed  she,  *  my  own 
flesh  and  blood !'  and  she  sank  without  a  sigh  as  if  lifeless  to 
the  floor. 

"  We  carried  her  out ;  and  our  exertions  at  length  recalled 
her  to  consciousness.  Terrible  was  her  awaking.  But  she 
shed  no  tear,  uttered  no  word  of  anger  or  complaint.  She 
appeared  strong  and  determined. 

"  She  sent  immediately  to  Provost  Ehen,  the  rector  of  the 
parish.  He  was  a  man  of  iron ;  stern,  strong,  and  one  ready 
for  law  to  combat  with  word  or  deed ;  and  more  than  this,  he 
was  an  honest  and  faithful  friend  of  Ma  chere  mere.  To  him 
she  confided  that  which  had  occurred,  and  they  two  decided 
the  steps  which  should  be  taken.  I  anticipated  what  was 
designed,  and  made  use  of  the  influence  which  I  had  some- 
times with  Ma  chere  mere,  to  induce  her  to  resort  to  less 
severe,  or,  at  least,  less  violent  measures.  But  all  my  repre- 
sentations were  useless.  She  merely  answered,  '  Unj)unished 
crime  brings  more  in  time.  Bitter  must  be  atoned  for  by 
bitter.' 

"  In  the  evening,  about  the  time  when  Bruno  was  expected 
to  return,  myself,  my  three  brothers,  the  old  servants,  and 
the  book-keeper,  were  ordered  into  Ma  chere  mere's  apart- 
ment. It  was  only  dimly  lighted ;  and  there,  in  the  gloomy 
dusky  room,  with  Provost  Ehen  beside  her,  sat,  in  a  tall  arm- 
chair, Bruno's  mother;  upon  whose  countenance  might  be 
read  the  sorrow  which  she  bore  in  her  heart.  But  over 
sorrow,  and  shame,  and  anger,  there  prevailed  stern  deter- 
mination such  as  I  never  before  had  seen  in  a  human  counte- 
nance. 

"  Thus  then  was  assembled  that  small  but  fearful  court  of 
judgment,  before  which  Bruno  was  to  be  cited.  Here  we 
awaited  him,  a  terrible  hour.  No  one  spoke.  I  saw,  in  that 
dull  light,  the  drops  of  cold  sweat,  like  Beads,  on  the  brow  of 
that  unhappy  mother. 

"  It  was  an  eveniug  at  the  end  of  September.  Without,  it 


98 


THE  NEIGHBOURS. 


was  already  stormy,  and  a  gusty  wind  shook  the  casements. 
One  moment  it  was  still,  and  in  that  moment  we  heard  the 
fiery  clatter  of  a  horse's  hoofs  on  the  court  pavement.  I  saw 
Ma  chere  mere  tremble.  I  had  never  seen  it  before.  I  heard 
a  dismal  rattling — not  of  the  casements — but  of  teeth,  as 
they  chatted  together.  My  brothers  wept.  The  old  servants 
stood  dumb,  and  with  downcast  glances :  an  expression  of 
remorse  was  on  the  countenance  of  the  book-keeper,  and  even 
the  iron-souled  Provost  seemed  gasping  for  breath. 

"  The  door  was  quickly  opened,  and  Bruno  stepped  in.  I 
see  him  this  moment,  as  if  he  stood  before  me.  He  was  warm 
from  riding,  and  from  the  storm  ;  full  of  health  and  fire ;  I 
never  saw  him  handsomer !  He  came  to  his  mother,  longing, 
as  he  always  did,  even  after  only  a  day's  absence,  to  throw 
himself  into  her  arms.  But  already  at  the  door  he  paused, 
started,  and  threw  a  terrified  glance  on  his  mother.  She 
covered  her  face  with  her  hands.  Bruno  grew  pale,  looked 
round  upon  us,  and  then  again  upon  his  mother.  She  cast  a 
flashing  glance  upon  him,  and  his  countenance  fell  before  it ; 
he  bowed  his  head,  he  became  yet  paler  and  paler,  he  stood 
there — a  criminal ! 

"At  that  moment  the  voice  of  his  mother  was  heard, 
awfully  severe,  accusing  him  of  the  theft ;  and  pointing  to  his 
rifled  chest  and  to  the  money  which  had  been  found  in  it,  she 
demanded  his  confession. 

"  Bruno  acknowledged  himself  guilty,  with  an  inconceivably 
bold  haughtiness. 

" '  Fall  upon  your  knees  and  receive  your  punishment !' 
said  the  stern  judge.  But  Bruno  stood  immovable.  A  con- 
sciousness which,  after  the  first  moment  of  his  haughty  con- 
fession, seemed  to  have  deprived  him  of  all  volition  over- 
whelmed him.  He  stood  pale  as  death,  his  head  dropped  upon 
his  breast,  his  eyes  rivetted  to  the  ground. 

"  Provost  Bhen  approached  him.  '  Young  man,'  said  he, 
in  a  low  voice,  ^  you  have  grievously  sinned  against  the  com- 
mands of  God,  and  against  your  mother.  Acknowledge  your 
guilt,  and  submit  to  your  punishment !' 

"  Bruno  stood  there  stupified  and  silent.  The  Provost, 
taking  his  silence  for  consent,  began  to  read,  in  a  strong 
solemn  voice,  the  customary  questions  of  church  penance, 
Bruno  stood  yet  immovaoie  ;  apparently  without  hearing  or 


FHANSISKA  WERNER  TO  MARIA  M. 


99 


st'omg  anything.  But  now  inquired  the  Provost,  with  a 
severe  tone,  '  Dost  thou  not  know  that  by  thy  crime  thou 
hast  not  only  grievously  offended  against  God,  but  hast  oc- 
casioned scandal  in  His  community  ?' 

"  These  words  seemed  to  rouse  Bruno  from  his  lethargy. 
He  raised  his  head  proudly ;  a  fiery  glance  shot  from  his 
eyes,  but  he  made  no  reply, 

"  Once  more  the  question  was  repeated,  and  he  yet 
remained  silent, 

"  Ma  chere  mere  raised  herself.  '  Fall  upon  your  knees, 
sinner !'  exclaimed  she,  in  an  awful  voice. 

"  Bruno  cast  a  dark  and  threatening  glance  upon  her.  So 
also  looked  she  upon  him.  '  I  wall  not !'  at  length  said  he  in 
a  tone  of  defiance,  '  What  has  this  priest  to  do  with  me  ?  I 
have  not  desired  him.  If  he  be  here  about  confessions  of 
guilt — others  may  come  in  question  as  well  as  I !  Exasperate 
me  not — or  ' 

"  *  Silence!'  said  Ma  chere  mere,  gloomily,  *and  answer 
only  to  my  question.  Acknowledge  you  yourself  to  be  alone 
guilty  of  this  theft  ?* 

"  Bruno  was  silent,  and  cast  a  dark  glance  upon  his  mother. 

"  *  Answer !'  said  she,  hastily,  *  answ^er !  Is  there  any 
partner  with  you  in  this  guilt  ?' 

"  Bruno  cast  another  long  look  on  his  mother ;  and  then 
with  a  firm  voice  said,  *  No !  I  alone  am  guilty.' 

"  *  Bow  down  your  knee,  then,  unhappy  one !'  said  she, 
*Tour  mother,  whom  you  have  covered  with  shame,  com- 
mands you  to  endure  the  dishonour  which  you  have  deserved. 
Fall  down!' 

"  Bruno  stamped  his  foot  in  wild  rage,  clenched  his  fist, 
and  darted  a  furious  defying  glance  at  her. 

"  '  Compel  him  down,  force  him  down,  you  people !'  cried 
Ma  chere  mere,  in  terrible  anger :  '  Priest,  if  thou  art  a  man, 
bow  the  disobedient,  degenerate  son  to  the  earth.  Make 
him  humble  himself  before  the  commands  of  the  Lord.' 

"  I  was  about  to  step  betw^een  them ;  but  already  had  the 
Provost  laid  his  strong  hands  on  Bruno's  shoidders ;  in  the 
same  moment  they  were  flung  off  again  with  a  violence  whicii 
whirled  the  Provost  completely  round. 

"  '  Layest  thou  hands  on  the  servant  of  the  Lord !'  ex- 
claimed  the  Provost  in  a  frenzy  of  rage,  forgetting  himselt, 

o2 


100 


THE  NEiaHBOTTBS. 


and  seizing  Bruno  with  a  sinewy  grasp.  But  Bruno  had  the 
strength  and  elasticity  of  fche  lion ;  and,  after  a  short  struggle, 

the  Provost  lay  stretched  on  the  ground. 

"  '  Seize  him !  hold  him !'  exclaimed  Ma  chere  mere,  beside 
herself  for  anger. 

"  The  book-keeper  and  my  brother,  who  attempted  to  hold 
him,  soon  lay  by  the  Provost ;  and  then  Bruno,  starting  back 
a  few  paces,  seized  a  staff  which  stood  in  a  corner  of  the  room, 
and  swinging  it  over  his  head,  made  it  resound,  and  with  the 
expression  of  mad  frenzy  on  his  countenance  menaced  each 
and  all  who  should  dare  to  approach  him. 

"  No  one  dared  to  do  so — except  his  mother.  *  Bemain 
where  you  are,'  said  she  to  the  others ;  and  then,  with  firm 
steps  and  quiet  mien,  she  approached  him,  laid  her  hand 
upon  his  head,  bowed  him  down  before  her,  and  asked  in  a 
voice  which  made  the  blood  freeze  in  my  veins,  whether  he 
would  submit  himself  to  her  will,  or — receive  her  curse  ? 

"  Mother  and  son  looked  at  each  other  with  eyes  of  flame 
and  defiance.  Por  a  long  time  they  stood  thus.  Again  she 
repeated  the  question ;  and  then  followed  terrible  words  on 
both  sides.  Again  all  was  still.  The  curse-speaking  lips 
became  stiff,  the  haughty  glances  dimmed.  Mother  and  son 
both  sank  in  a  deep  swoon. 

Both  were  carried  to  their  separate  chambers  " 

Bear  paused  here.  "Oh,  horrible!  horrible!"  exclaimed 
1,  shuddering,  and  laid  my  head  upon  his  shoulder. 

Bear  was  pale  and  silent  for  a  moment,  during  which  his 
f'yes  w^ere  fixed.  Then  continued  he  :  "  They  returned  to 
consciousness,  but  did  not  see  each  other  again  that  evening. 
I  sought  to  speak  with  him ;  but  he  affected  to  be  sleeping, 
and  I  at  length  returned  to  my  chamber. 

"  In  the  night,  when  all  was  dark  and  still,  we  heard  sud- 
denly a  wild,  prolonged,  and  thrilling  cry  from  his  room.  I 
sprang  up  and  hastened  there.  Bruno's  mother  was  standing 
there  alone,  with  a  wild  and  agitated  look.  Bruno  was  gone  ! 
The  open  window  seemed  to  indicate  that  he  had  made  his 
escape  that  way,  although  a  descent  from  a  height  like  that 
appeared  almost  incredible.  Yet  it  was  so.  Bruno  fled  that 
night  from  his  mother's  roof,  and  never  returned.  We  never 
iieard  tidings  of  him.  All  inquiries  were  vain — Bruno  was 
irone,  as  if  cut  out  from  the  number  of  the  living.  Seventeeu 


FKANSISKA  WERNER  TO  MARIA.  M. 


101 


years  have  passed  since  this  unhappy  time,  and  we  have 
discovered  not  the  least  trace  of  his  life.  We  therefore 
believe  his  death  probable. 

"  In  his  flight  Bruno  took  not  the  least  thing  with  him, 
excepting  the  clothes  he  wore  and  some  papers.  On  his 
table  lay  a  sheet  of  paper  whereon  were  the  foUowing  words, 
addressed  to  me,  and  vrritten  in  evident  haste : 

"  *  I  have  met  severity  with  scorn,  might  with  might ;  and 
this  has  made  me  appear  more  criminal  than  I  truly  am. 
But  before  you,  brother,  who  have  never  been  severe  or  un- 
reasonable towards  me — before  you  who,  as  I  believe,  love  me 
— will  I  not  appear  worse  than  I  am.  Hear  me  then — for 
this  is  the  last  time — this  last  theft  (and  J  had  sworn  that 
it  should  be  the  last)  was  not  entirely  a  theft.  The  day 
after  to-morrow  the  money  would  have  been  restored.  If 
you  will  convince  yourself  of  this,  speak  with  Mr.  E.  in  "W. 

The  money  was  not  for  myself,  but  for  the  unfort  ;  but 

what  does  it  signify  ?  My  mother  refused  me  a  loan — and 
now  I  took  only  of  that  which  at  one  time  would  be  mine — 
it  was  discovered,  and  she — she  must  bear  the  consequences 
of  that  which  has  happened  and  may  yet  happen. 

'  Farewell  for  ever, 

'  Bruno.* 

"  Ma  chere  mere  tore  the  paper  out  of  my  hand,  and  read 
the  contents.  '  He  has  stolen  more  than  once,  then,'  said 
she  passionately.  '  I  have  then  brought  a  thief  into  the 
world !'    She  tore  the  letter  into  a  thousand  pieces. 

"  From  this  moment  she  spoke  not  one  word  for  three 
years.  She  shut  herself  in  her  ovm  room,  which  w^as  dar- 
kened ;  would  endure  neither  light  nor  the  sight  of  man ;  ate 
and  drank  but  little ;  slept  scarcely  at  all ;  spoke  with  none  ; 
and  no  one,  with  the  exception  of  Elsa,  ventured  to  speak 
with  her.  When  any  of  us  against  her  commands  were  bold 
enough  to  approach  her,  she  either  fell  into  violent  rage  and 
showed  the  intruder  out,  or  sate  immovable,  with  her  hands 
before  her  face,  obstinately  silent,  and  deaf  to  all  our  en- 
treaties. 

"  LagmanHok,  in  the  mean  time,  in  association  with  Provost 
Ehen,  managed  her  affairs.  In  the  hands  of  these  honour- 
able men  they  were  safe.  A  skilful  overseer,  acquainted 
nith  the  place,  farmed  the  estate  under  their  inspection 


102 


THE  KEIGHBOTJES. 


But  as  Ma  cliere  mere's  hjrpochondriacal  condition  had  al- 
ready continued  so  long,  and  threatened  a  still  longer  con- 
tinuance, I  determined,  after  counselling  with  these  friends, 
to  call  her  own  family  together,  and  in  conjunction  with 
them  to  consider  and  determine  what  was  best  to  be  done 
both  for  the  present  and  the  future. 

"  This  family  meeting  took  place  at  Eamm,  in  October, 
18 — ,  three  years  after  Bruno's  flight.  One  day,  as  we  sate 
together  in  the.  great  hall,  busily  occupied  by  our  council, 
the  door  was  suddenly  opened,  and  Ma  chere  mere  entered  ; 
lofty,  quiet,  collected,  and  more  respect-inspiring  than  ever. 
She  addressed  the  assembly  in  her  customary  strong,  solemn 
manner;  said  that  she  knew  the  object  of  their  meeting; 
justified  it  on  account  of  her  long  sickness  ;  but  declared  the 
Congress  to  be  now  dissolved,  because  she  felt  herself  again 
in  perfect  health,  and  again  in  a  condition  to  regulate,  as 
before,  her  family  and  her  property.  She  returned  thanks 
to  all  her  friends  with  an  earnestness  that  affected  all,  for 
their  assistance  and  for  the  patience  which  they  had  shown 
towards  her,  whom  the  Lord  had  so  severely  smitten.  Next, 
she  bade  her  relations  all  kindly  welcome,  prayed  them  to 
remain  yet  longer,  and  to  be  as  cheerful  and  happy  at  Bamm 
as  formerly. 

"  It  is  diflB.cult  to  describe  the  effect  which  this  scene  pro- 
duced upon  the  assembly.  Admiration,  esteem,  and  sympa- 
thy were  the  feelings  of  most :  for  myself,  I  felt  sincere  joy, 
for  T  really  loved  Ma  chere  mere. 

"  To  gratify  her  wishes,  the  family  remained  there  a  few 
days.  But  all  gaiety  had  vanished  from  Bamm,  and  Ma  * 
chere  mere,  though  strong  and  domineering  as  ever,  went 
about  like  the  shadow  of  what  she  had  formerly  been.  Her 
complexion  was  changed ;  her  hair  become  perfectly  grey ; 
her  handsome,  hitherto  so  animated  countenance  bore  traces 
of  the  most  painful  sufferings ;  and  she,  who  formerly  was  so 
cheerful,  had  become  gloomy  and  thoughtful.  She  now  wore 
always  a  dark  grey  dress,  and  rejected  all  ornaments  At 
intervals  too  she  had  attacks  of  deep  melancholy,  and  would 
Bit  silent  for  hours,  her  face  covered  with  her  hands. 

"The  first  use  which  Ma  chere  mere  made  of  her  re-esta- 
blished self-government,  was  to  remove  from  Bamm  to  Carl». 
fora.    Shortly  thereafter  she  sold  the  first-mentioned  estate; 


TKANSISKA  TVEENER  TO  MARIA  M. 


103 


slie  seemed  to  regard  Bruno  as  dead,  never  named  him,  and 
could  bear  nothing  which  reminded  her  of  him.  The  old 
servants  were  dismissed  with  pensions ;  she  formed  an 
entirely  new  household.  Elsa  alone  remained  of  all  her 
former  domestics. 

"  Time  passed  on,  and  by  degrees  the  dark  melancholy 
seemed  to  leave  her,  and  now  for  the  last  several  years  Ma 
chere  mere  appears  to  have  resumed  her  former  life-enjoying 
existence.  Only  one  must  carefully  avoid  touching  the 
wounded  heart,  which  never  can  be  perfectly  healed  in  this 
world. 

i  "  Bruno's  flight  made  a  great  noise  in  the  country,  but 
Ma  chere  mere  was  so  honoured  and  beloved  by  her  do- 
mestics, that  the  disgraceful  occasion  of  his  flight  was  never 
knoTvn  publicly.  Many  uncertain  reports  were  soon  spread, 
but  people  all  adopted  the  opinion  that  incompatibility  of 
temper  in  mother  and  son  had  been  the  one  sole  cause  of  this 
violent  separation.    And  in  fact  it  was  so. 

"  Another  mode  of  treatment,  from  childhood  upward, 
would  probably  have  made  Bruno's  fate  different  to  what  it 
was.  But  now — unfortunate  Bruno ! — I  must  always  lament 
and  pity  him."  So  concluded  Bear,  with  a  tear  and  a  deep 
sigh.  _ 

This  history  saddened  indeed  my  spirit,  but  I  confess  that 
it  has  given  Ma  chere  mere  a  much  higher  interest  in  my 
eyes.  I  perceive  now,  in  the  depths  of  her  being,  the  wounded 
and  bleeding  heart  of  a  mother ;  and  her  misfortune  was 
greater  than  her  fault.  I  felt  myself  nearer  to  her ;  and  it 
seems  to  me  as  if  I  loved  her  better. 

22nd. 

I  wish  now  to  send  off  this  packet  of  letters,  yet  I  must 
just  say  before  it  goes  that  I  am  here  now  as  a  mock  widow. 

Bear  has  taken  a  journey  with  Peter  to  Gr  ,  to  arrange 

some  money  matters.  Bear,  during  his  twenty  years'  prac- 
tice, has  saved  a  pretty  little  property;  which,  by  Peter's 
advice,  he  is  now  gone  to  invest  in  the  great  trading-house  of 

L  .    During  this  time,  therefore,  I  rule  and  reign  in 

solitary  state  over  Bosenvik,  the  cabriolet  and  the  horse c 
Bear  desired  me  frequently  to  use  these  latter  in  conveying 
me  to  Carlsfors ;  and  Peter  besought  me  in  -a  very  friendly 
manner  to  look  after  his  little  Ebba.    I  shall  fulfil  thei 


104 


THE  NEIGHBOtJEB. 


wishes ;  although  I  would  just  now  much  rather  re  mail],  at 
home,  in  my  own  beloved  home,  and  see  my  peas  ii:  blossom. 

At  the  end  of  next  week  we  are  to  receive  a  visitor  at 
B/Osenvik,  the  prospect  of  which  makes  me  a  little  anxious. 
It  is  the  young  Baron  SteUan  S.,  son  of  the  late  Marschall 
of  the  Court,  S.,  who  was  an  intimate  friend  of  Bear's  youth. 
Bear  is  this  young  man's  guardian,  and  is  attached  to  him 
not  only  on  his  father's  account,  but  on  his  own  also.  This 
young  Stellan  S.  is  gentleman  of  the  bedchamber ;  handsome, 
rich,  and  full  of  talent.  AU  this  is  not  so  very  terrible, 
certainly ;  still,  from  much  that  I  have  heard  of  his  elegance, 
his  toilet,  his  style,  I  am  not  quite  easy  about  entertaining  so 
fine  a  gentleman  in  my  small  and  but  modestly  supplied 
house.  I  cannot  see,  for  my  part,  how  he  is  to  be  amused ; 
and  yet  I  w^ish  most  sincerely  that  every  friend  of  my  husbanti 
should  find  his  house  agreeable. 

But  all  can  go  on  as  it  may,  only  how  will  it  go  on  with 
my  romance  ?  I  find  no  intrigues,  no  entanglements,  con- 
sequently no  disentanglements ;  I  get  only  new  persons. 
How  am  I  to  unravel  aU  these  ?  how  keep  the  threads  to- 
gether without  a  perfect  jumble  ?  And  now  again  two  new 
characters; — the  brilliant  Stellan  S.  and  the  mysterious 
EomiUy ;  it  makes  me  quite  out  of  breath,  how  will  it  fare 
with  my  romance  ? 

But  let  it  turn  out  as  it  may,  I  remain  your 

Feansiska. 

a  strange  lady  to  the  beader. 
I  hope,  worthy  Eeader,  that  this  will  reach  thee  in  good 
health  and  good  humour.  I  hope,  such  being  the  case,  that 
thou  wilt  excuse  it  if  now  and  then  the  letter  of  a  gentleman 
should  slip  in  among  those  of  a  young  married  lady,-  and 
that  thou  wdU  not  take  it  altogether  amiss  if  an  unmarried 
lady  occasionally  should  take  up  her  pen  in  order  to  converse 
with  thee.  AU  this  is  merely  that  thou  mayest  have  less 
trouble ;  and,  in  fact,  I  do  not  otherwise  know  how  thou, 
dear  Eeader,  an^  the  young  wife,  would  ever  be  able  to.  un- 
ravel aU  this  abont  the  Neighbours. 

I  remain,  my  Eeader, 
With  the  greatest  esteem  for  thee, 

A  Strange  Ladt. 


BRUI^O  MAlfSfELT  TO  AKTONIO  DE  E. 


105 


BBUNO  MANSFELT  TO  ANTONIO  DE  R  . 

Kamm,  Midsummer  evening,  18^ 

Here  I  am  again ;  here  where  I  was  born,  where  I  played 
and  loved,  as  a  boy  and  as  a  youth.    Between  then  and  now 

lies  a  sea,  a  sea  fidl  of  but  nevertheless  I  am  once  more 

here.  The  oaks  are  as  green  as  ever ;  the  mountain  peak  is 
as  high,  the  clouds  pass  over  as  they  did  hitherto.  Feelings, 
thoughts,  actions,  are  also  clouds  : — they  come,  they  go — 
space  swallows  them  up — swallows  ? — No,  something  of  them 
remains  behind.    1  feel  that  too  well ! 

I  have  ascended  to  the  summit  of  the  mountain,  and  stood 
where  I  stood  as  a  boy  ;  where  I  stood  with  panting  breast 
and  saw  the  sea- waves  lashed  into  foam  by  the  winds,  and 
the  blue  mountains  raise  themselves  from  the  opposite  shore, 
and  whence  my  forebodings,  my  aspirings  and  my  longings, 
fled  forth  far  beyond.  I  stood  by  the  self-same  fir-tree — it 
had  now  outgrown  me,  although  its  roots  strike  into  the 
rock.  A  heap  of  stones  lay  beneath.  I  was  acquainted  with 
it.  The  boy  had  built  a  pyramid  upon  the  mountain-top, 
and  had  planted  there  his  banner  of  freedom.  The  pyramid 
was  thrown  down,  but  the  man  stood  there  now,  and  thought 
of  the  work  of  the  boy  and  smiled — a  bitter  smile.  I  have 
wandered  about  in  the  wood — in  the  fields  and  on  the  sea- 
shore ;  I  have  sought  out  many  particular  places,  and  woke 
many  remembrances.  The  stormy  appears  to  me  calm,  the 
guilty  innocent.  Ton  may  Imagine  how  this  is.  I  have 
lived  my  spring-time  over  again ;  I  have  enjoyed,  I  have 
wept — it  was  delight ! 

Now  it  is  evening,  and  all  around  me  is  still.  I  also  have 
a  moment's  rest,  like  the  ash-leaf  which  lately  blown  by  the 
wind  struck  lightly  on  the  casement ;  like  the  falcon  which 
lately  flew  circling  over  the  meadow.  The  mist  now  lies 
white  and  transparent  over  the  green  earth,  and  over  reposing 
human  beings.  I  hear  the  monotonous  song  of  the  moor 
birks,  than  which  I  know  nothing  sweeter.  By  this  song  I 
slept  every  summer  evening,  with  my  face  turned  towards 
heaven,  which  was  then  rosy  as  now,  and  saw  the  clouds 
become  more  golden  and  more  bright,  the  deeper  the  sun 
Bunk — as  it  is  with  the  actions  of  a  noble  life  when  this  ifl 
Bunk  in  the  deep.    Oh !  


106 


I  HE  NEIGHB0rU5. 


And  then  as  my  eyes  closed  themselves,  and  pictures  oi 
life  began  to  float  in  dreams,  then  ever  drew  near — ^then 
every,  every  evening  came  some  one  to  my  bed,  and  kind 
hands  drew  around  shoulders  and  breast  the  covering  which 
I  had  negligently  thrown  off; — a  warm  caressing  breath  then 
passed  over  my  cheeks.  I  knew  well  who  waR  near  me,  it 
was — my  mother  !  O  how  every  fibre  of  my  soul  thrills  and 
palpitates  at  this  adored  yet  terrible  name — my  mother ! 
She  was  a  handsome  and  noble  lady.  I  was  proud  to  name 
myself  her  son.  Sometimes  I  have  suddenly  thrown  off  the 
covering  which  she  had  so  carefully  laid  over  me,  and  with 
one  spring  fallen  on  her  breast,  embraced  and  kissed  her  as 
I  never  kissed  any  beloved  one.  And  she  clasped  me  in  her 
arms — that — that  was  love !  Sometimes,  too,  I  lay  still, 
pretending  to  sleep,  and  then  I  have  seen  her  fall  on  her 
knees  by  my  couch.  She  prayed — prayed  for  me!  How 
have  those  prayers  been  answ^ered ! 

I  have  had  the  apartments  here  repaired  and  furnished. 
I  did  not  wish  that  the  place  should  too  closely  resemble 
what  it  was.  I  feared  lest  the  apparition  of  a  child  in  the 
white  dress  of  innocence  should  present  itself  to  me.  The 
sleeping-room  of  my  mother  only  I  have  left  unchanged.  I 
have  not  been  into  it.    I  could  not.    It  is  kept  locked. 

After  this,  will  you  acknowledge  me  again  ?  Will  you  not 
lament  over  me  as  having  become  weak  and  pusillanimous  ? 
Hear  me  !  I  am  rejoiced  to  feel  myself  again  human.  I 
am  glad  that  no  death-in-life  quiet  has  petrified  my  heart. 
Still,  as  long  as  I  live  no  sentiment  shall  weaken  or  depress 
me,  even  though  it  came  from  the  abyss  ;  no  joy  and  no 
pain ! 

I  know  only  too  well  that  I  never  can  be  happy  ;  peace  is 
not  for  me  :  I  can  never  forget ;  nevertheless — I  can  bear. 
But  I  will  bear  alone  that  which  I  alone  have  merited. 
Many  a  tone  can  life  wake  in  my  breast,  but  never  that  of 
complaint.  I  defy  both  the  world  and  sufiering ! — Beyond 
this,  too,  man  can  always  cease  to  be,  when  he  finds  that 
miserable  jugglery  called  "  life"  too  heavy  for  him.  Some- 
times I  think  "  perhaps  it  will  mend — perhaps  the  yet  bright 
day  may  efface  the  shadows  of  the  past ;  perhaps  the  storm 
may  be  hushed,  and  these  lamenting  and  mourning  voices  die 
aw  ay  i    Time,  rural  occupation,  custom,  and  perhaps  domestic 


BEUNO  MAysrELT  TO  AlS'TOIflO  H. 


107 


happiness  "    You  smile,  Antonio.    I  smile  also  at  such 

chilttish  dreams.  It  may  be  ;  but  at  all  events,  like  a  watcher, 
I  look  out  for  something — perhaps,  after  all,  only  for  a 
dream. 

Did  you  ever  hear  of  a  man  who  sought  after  his  shadow  ? 
He  had  lost  it,  and  it  never  prospered  with  him  afterwards 
in  this  world.  I  am  that  man  !  I  seek  my  lost  shadow.  1 
seek  after  esteem  ;  after  a  consideration  in  that  place  where 
I  at  first  violated  the  law.  I  will  win  the  civic  wreath  there, 
and  will  atone  by  beneficence  for  early  misdeeds.  Can  it  be  r 
In  the  eye  of  the  world,  yes  !  but  with  the  judge  in  one's  own 
breast  ?  One  thing,  however,  I  will  obtain,  for  without  t]^ 
obtaining  of  that  everything  else  is  nothing.  Should  this 
be  refused  to  me,  I  will  once  more  leave  the  land  of  my  child- 
hood, go  once  more  into  the  wide  world  and  be — cursed ! 
Why  was  Cain's  brow  stamped  by  Heaven  with  eternal 
unrest  ?  He  was  cursed  hy  his  mother  !  I  know  how  Cain 
felt.  I  also  was  cursed  by  my  mother,  and  am  without  rest 
in  the  world.  And  now,  I  desire,  I  will,  that  upon  that  brow 
whereon  she  laid  so  heavy  a  curse,  she  will  again  lay  her 
hand,  remove  the  curse,  and  place  a  blessing  in  its  stead  I 
Oh,  then  will  its  burning  fire  be  cooled.  Shall  I  bend  my 
head  to  that  breast  which  first  gave  me  nourishment  ?  Shall 
I  see  forgiveness  in  that  stern  glance  ?  ShaU  I  yet  once 
more  press  those  lips  in  love  which  once  cursed  me  ?  Oh,  I 
thirst,  I  burn,  I  languish  after  this  happiness  ! 

Do  you  know  a  high,  holy,  sweet,  fearful  name — a  name 
which  breaks  forth  in  the  struggle  between  life  and  death ; 
a  name  which  Grod  himself,  loving  and  sufiering  as  a  man, 
pronounced  ?  This  name  I  will  address  in  my  soul  to  her 
who  has  cast  me  ofi*.    Mother  !  oh,  mother ! 

Mother,  my  mother !  wilt  thou  acknowledge  thy  guilty 
son — ^wilt  thou  forgive  him  ?  I  scarcely  dare  to  hope  it. 
Yet  she  should  do  it.  Great  was  her  guilt.  Severity  against 
severity,  bitterness  against  bitterness — ^it  could  not  succeed ! 
But  would  she  only  be  affectionate — would  she  only  forgive ! 
I  would  pour  out  prayers  at  her  feet ! 

You  know  my  passion  for  music.  I  can  satisfy  it  here. 
I  have  had  an  organ  placed  in  one  of  the  rooms ;  its  tone  is 
good.  Every  evening,  at  the  approach  of  twilight,  I  sit  and 
play  there  till  deep  in  the  night;  the  deeper  the  sti/Inesyi, 


108 


THE  IS^EiaHBOFIlS. 


tlie  dimmer  the  twilight,  the  higher  peals  forth  the  organ. 
It  quietens  me.  It  exalts  and  refreshes  my  soul.  In  ita 
flood  of  sound  I  drown  the  recollections  which  become  living 
in  the  bosom  of  night.  Music  is  a  glorious  thing !  It  is 
an  intoxication,  an  enchantment ;  a  world  in  which  to  live, 
to  combat,  to  repose — a  sea  of  painful  delight,  incomprehen- 
sible and  boundless  as  eternity. 

In  such  moments  a  vision  sometimes  presents  itself.  It 
appears  to  me  as  if  there  arose  out  of  this  tempestuous  world, 
above  this  sea  of  sound,  a — what  must  I  call  it  ? — a  hope,  a 
beauty,  a  heavenly  spirit,  a  kind  reconciling  genius,  which, 
extracting  from  this  stream  of  sound  all  that  is  most  beau- 
tiful and  most  etherial,  weaves  therefrom  its  own  pure  essence. 
The  deeper  the  fugue  descends,  the  brighter  becomes  this 
image,  like  stars  in  the  dark  night.  Then  sinks  the  storm, 
and  my  soul  becomes  tranquil:  all  dissonance,  aU  pain  is 
gone,  and  the  heavenly  image  floats  radiantly  over  the  quiet 
lake.  But  then  it  also  dims  and  vanishes.  I  cannot  keep 
it.  It  arises  with  the  ascending  of  the  sound,  and  fades 
with  its  decline.  Neither  can  I  call  up  at  will  this  heavenly 
phantasma,  although  I  have  an  indescribable  longing  to 
behold  it.  A  reality  so  beautiful  as  this  vision,  life  has  never 
presented  me  with.  I  seldom  go  to  rest  before  the  first  sun- 
beams dance  in  the  Helga  sea.  Then  my  spirit  is  wearied 
with  the  warfare  and  enchantment  of  the  night.  Then  I  can 
rest  several  hours. 

Would  that  the  song  of  my  heart,  the  miserere  of  my  soul, 
could  once  reach  the  ear  of  my  mother !  But  before  she  hears 
my  voice  messengers  shaU  approach,  who,  in  friendly  melo- 
dies, shall  speak  to  her  of  the  stranger.  She  shaU  hear  him 
praised  and  celebrated,  and  then  she  wiU  the  less  shrink  back 
from  acknowledging  in  him  her  son. 

But  should  she  not  do  so — ^then  Antonio,  you  will 

■oon  again  see  at  the  Bouge  et  Noir 

ToFE  FaiBND. 


rBANS:SKA  TO  MABIA  M. 


CHAPTEE  V. 

TEANSISKA  WEBNEB  TO  MABIA  M  , 

Rosen vik,  25th  June,  Evening 

Ha  !  a  stormy  day,  a  truly  unfortunate  day  !  The  beginning 
however  was  good.  Yesterday  I  was  invited  to  dinner,  and 
to  a  Midsummer  dance,  at  Carlsfors  ;  but  my  headache  pre- 
vented my  going  there.  I  let  my  servants  go  to  the  dance, 
excepting  Sissa,  who  could  be  induced  on  no  conditions  to 
leave  me,  and  I  myself  passed  the  lively  Midsummer-day 
on  the  sofa.  That  was  not  very  agreeable,  yet  it  did  me  good 
fco  think  on  the  many  who  were  joyful  on  this  day. 

To-day  I  am  full  of  health,  and  overflowing  life.  I  felt  an 
inclination  for  a  long  walk,  and  took  my  work-basket  and  set 
off  for  Carlsfors.  The  weather  was  rather  dull,  but  still  and 
pleasant.  The  country  was  full  of  its  summer  glory ;  the 
Bcythe  had  not  yet  gone  over  the  flowery  grass.  Butterflies 
flitted  past  with  glittering  vrings  ;  the  birds  sang,  and  I  sang 
too ;  sang  as  I  walked  over  the  beautiful  earth,  and  felt 
myself  happy  to  be  one  of  those  little  beings  which,  inspired 
by  a  light  and  thankful  breast,  lift  up  their  voices  in  praise 
of  the  Creator.  To  take  such  a  walk  as  this,  alone,  without 
companions,  is  one  of  the  greatest  pleasures  I  know.  I  am 
always  on  such  occasions  as  light  and  careless  as  a  bird; 
I  forget  aU  the  weariness  of  the  world  in  the  presence  of  air, 
flowers,  green  trees,  blue  waters ;  the  whole  life  of  nature 
becomes  my  life. 

When  I  arrived  at  Carlsfors,  I  found  Ma  chere  mere  busy 
at  her  lathe.  She  seemed  delighted  to  see  me,  embraced  mo 
cordially,  scolded  me  about  my  "  stupid  headache,"  and  very 
soon  we  were  in  the  midst  of  a  lively  and  jocose  conversation ; 
during  which  time  she  went  on  with  her  work,  and  I  admired 
her  dexterity.  It  gives  me  real  delight  to  feel  that  Ma 
chere  mere  and  I  become  still  more  intimate.  There  is  a 
something  between  us  that  accords.  I  like  her,  and  always 
feel  cheerful  and  unconstrained  with  her.  She  is  a  prudent, 
true-hearted  woman,  even  if  she  be  stern ;  and  belongs  to 
that  rare  class  of  character  who  always  know  what  they  are 
aiming  at.    Such  persons  have  a  beneficial  influence  on 


110 


ZRE  NEIGHBOURS, 


me.  My  quicksilver  nature  is  calmed  down  and  regulatea 
by  theirs.  Two  or  three  times  during  our  conversation,  she 
spoke  to  me  with  the  pronoun  thou,^  which  in  her  mouth  has 
a  something  particularly  graceful  and  sincere.  G-enerally 
she  uses  ^ou  to  all  ladies,  and  Jane  Marie  she  calls  "  my 
daughter-in-law,"  The  little  word  thou  addressed  to  me  gave 
me  great  pleasure,  as  did  also  the  present  of  a  handsome 
turned  box,  which  she  had  completed  under  my  eyes. 

Would  it  be  possible  for  two  people  to  be  talking  together 
in  this  neighbourhood  without  their  mentioning  the  new  re- 
sident at  Eamm  ?  I  believe  it  would  be  impossible.  Ma 
chere  mere  also  spoke  of  him  to-day.  This  extraordinary 
man,  it  seems,  has  consecrated  his  residence  in  this  country 
by  a  large  donation  for  the  erection  of  a  school,  which  has 
long  been  wanted  here.  The  old  estimable  Mr.  Dahl,  who, 
notwithstanding  his  great  age,  is  so  active,  and  the  Provost  D., 
in  W.,  have  undertaken  the  management  of  this  business. 
Ma  chere  mere  spoke  of  it ;  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  she 
also  intended  to  take  her  part  in  this  new  institution,  as  well 
by  providing  the  oak  timber  necessary  for  the  building,  as 
by  her  good  counsel  also.  A  few  words  which  she  said  on 
this  occasion  respecting  education  and  general  enlightenment, 
pleased  me  on  account  of  the  clear  and  sound  views  which 
they  contained. 

Thus  were  we  two  in  the  sunshine  together,  but  towards 
noon  clouds  began  to  gather. 

In  her  behaviour  to  me,  Jane  Marie  was  as  usual  most 
friendly  and  agreeable;  but  towards  Ebba  she  assumed  a 
chiding,  admonitory,  governess  tone,  which  became  her  as 
little  as  it  did  good  to  Ebba.  As  for  Ebba,  whatever  might 
be  amiss  with  her,  she  was  in  so  bad  a  humour  that  not  even 
a  lover  could  have  given  it  a  better  name.  Negligent  in 
dress  and  deportment,  she  leaned  herself  back,  in  a  wayward 
mood,  in  her  chair,  would  eat  nothing,  made  faces,  threw  her 
knife  and  fork  away,  grumbled  right  and  left,  and  behaved 
most  unbecomingly.  Jane  Marie  blamed  and  moralized  in 
vain.  Ma  chere  mere  said  nothing,  but  I  saw  by  certain 
glances  that  a  storm  was  not  far  off.  I  was  anxious,  as  I 
always  am  when  I  apprehend  domestic  strife,  and  did  all  that 

•  A  mode  of  speech  used  amongst  equals  snly,  as  a  demonstration  of  gre.tf 
tfiection  and  famjliarity. 


TRAXSISKA  VVEliyEE  TO  MARIA  M.  Ill 

lay  in  my  power  to  disperse  that  whicli  threatened.  But 
there  was  something  strange  in  Jane  Marie.  It  seemed  as 
if  she  rather  wished  to  unveil  than  to  conceal  Ebba's  faulty. 
Ebba  began  to  sing  to  herself. 

"  People  don't  sing  at  table,  Ebba,"  said  Jane  Marie, 
louder  than  there  was  any  occasion  for. 

Ma  chere  mere  seemed  to  wish,  as  I  did,  to  disperse  the 
storm.  She  talked  therefore  with  Ebba  in  a  very  friendly 
and  joking  tone.  But  Ebba  was  silent,  and  looked  scornftdly 
at  her. 

"  Ebba,  it  is  unseemly  to  look  at  Ma  chere  mere  in  that 
way,"  said  the  carping  voice  of  Jane  Marie. 

"  Yet  a  cat  may  look  at  a  king,"  remarked  Ma  chere  mere 
good-hum  our  edly  :  then  added,  but  more  seriously,  that  she 
thought  she  had  a  reasonable  lady  at  table,  and  not  a  child, 
etc.    Ebba  began  again  to  hum  a  ballad. 

"  Don't  sing,  Ebba,"  said  Jane  Marie ;  "but  listen  to  what 
Ma  chere  mere  says." 

"  I  don't  know  why  I  should  do  so,"  replied  Ebba,  with 
matchless  effrontery. 

"  Because  it  is  your  duty,"  thundered  out  Ma  chere  mere, 
striking  the  table  with  her  clenched  fist ;  "  and  if  you  do  not 
know  this  abeady,  I'U  be  hanged  if  I  won't  teach  it  to  you !" 
She  rose,  her  nose  was  sharp  and  pale,  her  breath  was  hiss- 
ing. The  storm  after  this  might  have  passed  over,  had  not 
Ebba's  incivility  exceeded  all  bounds.  I  have  often  remarked 
that  in  small  things  Jane  Marie  wishes  to  have  the  prefer- 
ence over  Ebba  or  me.  She  will  enter  a  room  first,  be  first 
bid  to  table,  and  so  on.  Once  I  heard  her  say  to  the  ser- 
vant, "  Eemember  that  you  must  always  present  me  before 
the  Baroness  Ebba."  I  willingly  let  this  pass  unnoticed ; 
but  Ebba  took  every  opportunity  to  oppose  Jane  Marie's 
assumed  claim  of  priority.  A  plate  of  milk  which  now  un- 
fortunately stood  between  the  two  sisters-in-law  was  the 
occasion  of  strife.  Jane  Marie,  with  a  very  haughty  air, 
endeavoured  to  appropriate  this  to  herself,  when  Ebba 
snatched  it  with  such  violence  that  the  milk  was  spilled  over 
Jane  Marie's  muslin  dress.  All  was  now  lost !  Jane  Marie 
called  for  help  ;  Ma  chere  mere  pushed  back  her  chair,  and 
without  saying  a  word  to  Ebba,  took  her  by  the  arm  and  led 
her  out  of  the  dininp--room.    I  w^as  crimson  with  shame  at 


112 


THE  NEIGHBOUES. 


this  scene,  and  wished  myself  away.  We  all  arose ;  Jane 
Marie  went  to  change  her  dress,  and  we  assembled  in  the 
drawing-room,  into  which  Ma  chere  mere  also  soon  came, 
leading  in  Ebba,  whose  face  was  scarlet,  and  who  with  diffi- 
culty kept  back  her  sobs.  She  led  her  to  Jane  Marie  and 
pronounced  an  apology,  which  Ebba  repeated  word  for  word 
after  her ;  whereupon  the  two  sisters-in-law  embraced,  but 
without  cordiality.  All  this  over,  Ebba  rushed  to  another 
room,  threw  herself  on  a  sofa,  and  cried  herself  to  sleep. 

After  coffee.  Ma  chere  mere  made  the  proposal  to  Jane 
Marie  that  she  should  play  an  overture,  and  then  that  they 
two  should  play  a  piece  together.  Jane  Marie,  who  has  no 
great  opinion  of  Ma  chere  mere's  musical  talents,  glanced  at 
me  with  a  half-sarcastic  expression,  and  then,  in  compliance 
with  the  request,  played  a  sonata  of  Mozart,  which  Ma  chere 
mere  selected,  and  in  which  she  accompanied  her  on  her 
violin  with  ability  certainly,  but  with  no  particular  grace. 
I  was  charmed,  however,  as  I  always  am,  by  the  music  of 
Mozart.  Jane  Marie  will  not  willingly  play  any  music  but 
that  of  Herz  or  Czerny,  which  to  my  taste  is  too  fantastic 
and  affected.  Jane  Marie's  superior  talent.  Ma  chere  mere's 
zeal,  and  her  being  so  practised  in  "  her  Mozart,"  as  she  calls 
him,  occasioned  this  piece  to  go  ofl'  so  well  that  Ma  chere 
mere  herself  cried  "  Bravo !" 

After  Jane  Marie  it  came  to  my  turn ;  but  partly  in  con- 
sequence of  the  "  grande  senate  par  Steibelt  avec  accom- 
pagnement  de  violon"  being  wholly  unknown  to  me,  and 
partly  in  consequence  of  my  being  but  a  bungler  on  the  piano 
in  comparison  of  Jane  Marie,  I  performed  only  indifferently. 
In  vain  did  Ma  chere  mere  beat  the  time,  in  vain  made  such 
flourishes  on  the  violin  that  my  tympanum  was  nearly  rent 
to  pieces,  we  were  still  both  of  us  always  out  of  time.  We 
began  again,  we  repeated ;  she  was  impatient,  and  I  was  im- 
patient, and  we  wound  up  with  a  perfect  charivari.  Ma 
chere  mere  laid  down  her  violin,  and  called  me  "  a  little 
Mter 

"  AYhen  Jane  Marie  and  I  go  together,"  added  she,  "  it  is 
very  diiferent.    One  can  call  that  harmonjr." 

The  harmony,  however,  between  Ma  chere  mere  and  Jane 
Marie  was  soon  disturbed.  They  got  upon  a  question  of 
housewifery.    Ma  chere  mere  uses  one-and-a-half  measure 


^■EAFSISKA  WEKIS^ER  TO  MARIA 


118 


of  mal ;  to  two  measures  of  beer  and  to  half  a  measure  of  ale 
Jane  Marie  asserted  that  one-third  less  malt,  according  to 
her  method,  would  brew  the  same  quantity  of  good  beer  and 
ale. 

Ma  chere  mere  said  this  was  purely  impossible,  but  Jane 
Marie  abode  by  her  assertion,  and  thus  the  strife  lasted  a 
long  time ;  till  at  last  Jane  Marie  let  fall  the  remark  that 
Ma  chere  mere  did  not  understand  the  right  art  of  brewing. 
This  was  unlucky. 

"Will  the  egg  be  wiser  than  the  hen  ?"  asked  Ma  chere 
mere  with  bitterness.  "  I  do  not  trouble  myself  about  your 
new-fashioned  art  of  brewing  and  your  wonderful  discoveries. 
There  may  be  art  in  them,  but  there  is  all  the  less  wort. 
They  who  have  tried  know ;  and  I  have  seen  a  few  more 
years  and  a  few  more  brewings  than  you  have,  daughter-in- 
law  Jane  Marie.  The  old  woman  is  the  oldest,  remember 
that!" 

J ane  Marie  worked  busily  at  the  embroidery,  grew  very 
red,  but  was  silent,  with  a  countenance  of  superior  wisdom. 
All  this  was  not  pleasant.  In  the  mean  time  Ebba  awoke, 
and  came  into  the  room  like  a  bird  after  a  shower.  In  order 
to  amuse  her,  I  proposed  some  cheerful  game  at  cards.  Ma 
chere  mere  assented  gladly,  and  we  sate  ourselves  all  down  to 
a  round  table.  But  in  the  very  beginning  of  the  game,  Jane 
Marie  and  Ebba  fell  into  strife  about  some  rule  of  the  game, 
and  that  right  vehemently.  Ebba  appealed  to  me,  and  I  gave 
my  decision  in  her  favour,  with  a  merry  remark  on  Jane 
Marie's  opinion.  This  offended  her  ;  and  in  return  she  gave 
me  a  biting  reply.  Heaven  knows  how  it  was  that  my  ther- 
mometer rose  in  a  moment !  I  was  hot  to  the  ears,  answered 
somewhat  tartly,  and  for  some  moments  we  two  quarrelled 
sharply.  As  soon,  however,  as  I  saw  Ma  chere  mere's  large 
eyea  fixed  upon  me,  1  was  ashamed,  blushed,  and  endeavoured 
to  make  amends  for  my  over-hastiness.  But  never  surely  was 
a  game  so  little  cheerful !  J  ane  Marie  sate  there  as  if  in  a 
church,  and  received  all  Ma  chere  mere's  observations,  whe- 
ther coarse  or  fine,  with  icy  coldness. 

I  was  truly  rejoiced  when  they  came  to  say  that  tlie 
cabriolet  was  at  the  door.  As  I  took  leave  of  Jane  Marie, 
she  withdrew  from  the  kiss  which  I  wished  to  press  warmly 
013  her  lips,  and  only  coldly  and  scarcely  perceptibly  touched 

H 


L14 


THE  NEIGHBOURS. 


mj  hand  with  the  tips  of  her  fingers.  I  was  sorry  to  see 
how  angrj  she  was  with  me.  Ma  chere  mere  accompanied 
nio  to  the  hall,  and  said,  "  My  dear  Transiska,  we  have  all 
been  very  wearisome  to-day." 

"  Ah,  yes  !"  answered  I,  so  truly  from  the  depths  of  my 
heart  that  Ma  chere  mere  was  obliged  to  laugh,  embraced  me, 
and  looking  keenly  at  me  said,  "  Yes  ;  and  you  have  been  no 
better  than  the  rest,  you  child." 

"  Nor  you,  mother,  either,"  said  I  merrily  ;  but  somewhat 
shocked  at  my  boldness,  I  added  warmly,  "  Forgive  me !" 
and  kissed  her  hand. 

Now  come  again  to-morrow,"  said  she  laughing,  and 
giving  me  a  little  slap  on  the  cheek,  "  and  we  will  try  if  we 
cannot  do  better.  Will  you  ?  Come,  my  child.  I  will  send 
the  Norrkopings'  carriage  to  fetch  you  and  take  you  back. 
The  horses  need  a  little  exercise." 

This  little  parting  scene  lightened  my  heart.  Ma  chere 
mere  possesses  a  stronger  charm  for  me  daily.  But  Jane 
Marie  !  How  speeds  it  with  our  friendship  and  La  Com- 
media  Divina  ?  But  I  will  condemn  no  one  for  this  day. 
There  are  bad  days,  which  put  all  tempers  out  of  tune,  just 
as  the  milk  becomes  sour  in  the  dairy  when  there  is  thunder 
in  the  air ;  and  I  myself  was,  as  Ma  chere  mere  says,  no 
better  than  the  rest. 

To-morrow  I  hope  all  will  be  straight  between  J ane  Marie 
and  me. 

26th,  Evening. 

No !  all  is  not  straight  again  between  Jane  Marie  and  me. 
Extraordinary  how  any  one  on  account  of  a  trifle  can  nourish 
resentment,  more  especially  when  the  warmth  was  mutual. 

Ma  chere  mere  met  me  yesterday  more  cordially  than 
common.  Jane  Marie,  on  the  contrary,  was  constrained  and 
ui)friendly  ;  she  would  not  converse  with  me,  and  when  I 
spoke  to  her  scarcely  answered  me.  That  distressed  me  to 
the  heart.  I  was  also  grieved  for  Ebba.  She  was  pale  and 
depressed,  but  not  in  ill-humour,  and  appeared  as  if  she 
hardly  understood  either  herself  or  life.  She  looked  as  if 
she  needed  a  friend,  and  I  determined  to  become  such  to  her 
according  to  my  best  ability.  I  remarked  also  that  Jane 
Marie's  moral  lectures  did  no  good ;  and  that  her  and  Jean 
Jacques'  eternal  exhortation  to  her,  "  to  hi)  rational,  and  go 


FHAITSISKA  WEEl^ER  TO  MAHIA  M.  115  • 

out  and  walk,"  only  fixed  the  determination  the  more  firmly 
in  her  wilful  brain  never  to  set  foot  out  of  doors,  and  to  be  as 
little  rational  as  possible, 

I  took  the  opportunity  during  a  moment  when  we  were 
alone  to  say  to  Ebba,  "Have  you  any  desire  to  come  to- 
morrow morning  quite  early  to  our  house  to  drink  new  milk  ? 
I  have  a  cow,  by  name  Audumbla,  that  gives  the  most  delicious 
milk  in  the  world  ;  and  beyond  that,  is  so  tame  that  she  wDl 
take  bread  out  of  your  hand  if  you  will  feed  her.  Have  you 
any  desire  ?" 

"  Ah,  yes !"  said  Ebba,  surprised,  and  opening  wide  her 
beautiful  eyes,  which  instantly  became  brilliant. 

"  Now  I  shall  come  and  fetch  you,"  said  I,  "  early  to- 
morrow morning.    But  can  you  be  up  by  six  r" 

"At  five,  or  four,"  returned  she,  with  enthusiasm. 

"  But  you  cannot  walk  so  far,"  rejoined  I ;  "  it  is  nearly  a 
mile  and  a  half  from  Bosenvik — no,  it  is  too  far!" 

"  1^0,  no,  certainly  not !"  persisted  she  ;  "  I  can  very  well 
walk  six  miles  or  more.  I  am  strong.  I  can  dance  a  whole 
night." 

"Then  I  shaU  come  and  fetch  you  at  six  o'clock,"  I  said, 
"  and  keep  you  with  me  the  whole  day.  We  w  ill  bake  pan- 
cakes for  ourselves  for  dinner,  and  in  the  evening  I  will  bring 
you  back  in  the  cabriolet.  The  horse  is  so  quiet  that  I  am 
convinced  that  you  may  drive  him  yourself." 

"  Heavens !  how  charming  it  wiU  be !"  exclaimed  Ebba, 
quite  enraptured. 

"  But,"  said  I,  "  we  must  first  have  Ma  chere  mere's  per- 
mission." 

"  Of  course ;  I  will  run  to  her  immediately  and  speak  about 
it ;"  and  away  she  ran.  The  dislike  to  the  country,  the 
resolve  never  to  go  out,  aU.  were  forgotten  in  the  prospect  of 
going  with  me,  drinking  milk,  and  driving  the  horse. 

I  rejoiced  over  my  conquest,  and  that  I  should  have  Ebba 
for  a  whole  day  with  me ;  for  I  felt  persuaded  that  she  pos- 
sessed a  good  heart  and  understanding,  if  the  right  means 
were  only  used  to  call  them  forth.  A  few  moments  after 
this,  I  went  to  Ma  chere  mere's  room,  and  found  her  with 
Ebba  seai;ed  on  her  knee,  chattering  to  her  with  all  the  merry 
freedom  of  a  child,  the  w  hile  she  was  twisting  the  worthy  old 
lady's  cap  into  all  odd  bends  and  shapes.    Ma  chere  mere 

H  2 


11(3 


THE  IS^ElGHBOrKS. 


iaughed,  and  granted  her  request.  There  exists  the  very  hes* 
understanding  between  them. 

So,  my  dear  Transiska,"  said  Ma  chere  mere  kindly,  "  I 
hear  that  to-morrow  morning  you  will  convey  Ebba  away,  in 
order  that  she  may  drink  sweet  milk  with  your  calves.  J 
presume  that  you  convey  her  away  in  an  air  balloon,  because 
you  know  that  she  cannot  walk  on  dusty  roads  or  green 
grass." 

"  How  cheerful  that  would  be  1"  exclaimed  Ebba,  clapping 
her  hands,  and  hopping  out  of  the  room. 

"  She  is  not  bad,"  observed  Ma  chere  mere,  "  but  she  is  an 
ill-trained  child,  and  must  yet  be  better  taught.  If  it  had  been 
done  earlier,  it  would  have  spared  after-trouble.  Fransiska, 
if  you  have  children,  remember  the  words  of  the  son  of 
Sirach — *  if  you  have  children,  chastise  them.'  " 

I  suggested  that  one  should  merely  work  by  reason  on 
children,  and  thus  train  them  to  be  good  men  and  thinking 
beings. 

"  Many  ways  may  lead  to  Eome,"  returned  she,  "  but  the 
way  of  the  rod  leads  them  much  sooner  than  the  way  of 
reason.  Of  course  you  must  operate  on  men  by  reason.  But 
to  be  reasoning  with  children  is  to  talk  yourself  hoarse,  and 
get  noihing  for  it.  Teach  the  wolf  the  paternoster,  and  he 
still  will  be  craving  for  the  lamb.  My  brother-in-law 
Eeinhold's  children  were  to  be  brought  up  on  this  reasoning 
system,  and  were  to  turn  out  something  magnificent.  Nay  ! 
it  was  too  horrible!  The  whole  brood  w^as  the  plague  of 
everybody  in  the  house.  One  day  there  were  visitors  at  my 
brother-in-law's,  and  the  children  went  about  making  havoc 
like  little  demons.  Some  one  of  the  company  remarked  that 
something  was  '  black  as  a  raven,'  whereupon  one  of  the 
young  Eeinholds  cried  out,  *  the  raven  is  white.'  *  No,  my 
young  one,'  said  the  mother,  '  the  raven  is  black.'  '  Nay !' 
screamed  the  boy  angrily,  *  the  raven  is  white,  the  raven  is 
white !'  *  The  raven  is  black,'  said  the  mother.  '  The  raven 
IS  white  !'  cried  the  boy.  Now  what  should  one  do  ?  Could 
one  have  had  a  raven  directly  at  hand  to  convince  his  reason  ? 
No,  and  so  that  young  one  would  have  the  last  word.  I 
should  like  to  have  had  him  under  my  bauds,  and  then  he 
should  soon  have  learned,  and  that  with  emphasis,  that  a 
raven  is  not  white.    No,  no,  Fransiska;  reason  is  a  good 


rHANSiSKA  WERNEfi  TO  MAEIA  M. 


117 


thing,  but  it  does  no  good  with  children.  Those  who  will  not 
obey  father  and  mother,  will  yet  obey  the  rod." 

The  story  and  Ma  chere  mere's  zeal  made  me  laugh 
heartily  ;  but  the  thought  how  unfortunate  Ma  chere  mere's 
doctrine  had  proved  with  regard  to  her  only  son,  inspired  a 
feeling  of  sadness ;  and  full  of  my  own  thoughts,  I  said,  "  It 
is  possible  that  for  different  dispositions  different  modes  of 
treatment  are  requisite." 

"  Perhaps  so,"  said  Ma  chere  mere,  and  a  dark  cloud  rested 
on  her  brow ;  but  she  soon  dispersed  it,  and  gaily  resumed 
the  conversation. 

"  In  the  mean  time,  Transiska,"  said  she,  "  I  am  glad  that 
thou  hast  taken  that  pretty  little  romp,  Ebba,  a  little  under 
thy  care.  At  her  age  discreet  words  are  seldom  wasted : 
*  that  which  is  hidden  in  the  snow  turns  up  in  the  thaw.'  " 

The  pretty  romp  was  good-humoured  and  amiable  all  the 
day.  Jane  Marie,  on  the  contrary,  only  the  more  sullen ;  at 
least,  towards  Ebba  and  me.  It  seemed  as  if  she  thought  we 
had  made  a  league  against  her.  I  had  a  great  desire  to  show 
her  that  it  was  not  so,  and  that  there  was  nothing  I  wished 
for  more  than  that  there  should  be  again  a  good  feeling  be- 
tween us;  but  she  exhibited  a  trait  of  character  which 
almost  displaced  her  from  my  heart,  because  it  betrayed  a 
want  of  goodness  and  true  education.  It  was  towards  even- 
ing, and  we  were  speaking  of  BeUini,  with  whose  ballads 
Ebba  was  charmed-  Jane  Marie  said  he  was  too  uniform, 
and  that  there  was  no  life  in  his  melodies. 

"  O,"  cried  Ebba,  "  I  must  sing  you  one  of  his  pieces, 
which  is  angelic,  and  which  I  learned  last  winter  from  Mr.  B. 
You  must  hear  it !" 

She  sprang  to  the  piano,  and  sang  with  much  grace  a 
charming  little  piece  of  this  melodious  master.  I  listened 
with  great  pleasure ;  when,  exactly  at  the  moment  in  which 
ehe  executed  with  observant  care  a  most  expressive  morendo, 
Jane  Marie  pushed  back  her  chair  with  great  noise  and  went 
out  of  the  room,  both  opening  and  shutting  the  door  violently. 
Ebba  turned  red,  and  so  did  I,  because  Jane  Marie's  be- 
haviour was  painful,  and  was  evidently  intended  to  set  Ebba 
down.  I  sa  w  by  a  glance  that  Ma  chere  mere  felt  it  as  I  did ; 
mi  when  Ebba  left  off,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  she  praised  her 


lis 


THE  TTETGHBOTJES. 


greatly  ;  more  Indeed  than- she  would  have  done  if  Jane  Marie 
had  not  shown  such  great  unfriendliness. 

Jane  Marie  is  always  praised  as  a  lady  of  such  superior 
education.  "Ah,"  thought  I,  reviewing  this  scene,  "how 
superficially  is  this  heautiful  and  much-expressing  phrase  ap- 
plied!" and  I  felt  after  this  no  longer  any  great  desire  to 
seek  too  much  after  a  reconciliation  with  Jane  Marie.  I  will 
let  it  come  when  it  will. 

But  oh  !  what  comes  now  to  me  w^ith  joy  and  rapture  ?  A 
letter  from  you,  my  Maria,  so  beautiful,  so  full  of  that  which 
makes  me  happy  !  Although  it  is  already  late,  I  yet  cannot 
go  to  rest  till  I  have  somewhat  unburdened  myself  of  the 
feelings  and  the  words  which  you  have  called  up  in  my  heart  1  * 

27th,  Evening. 

This  morning  at  five  o'clock  I  set  out  on  the  way  to 
Carlsfors  to  fetch  Ebba.  The  weather  was  as  fine  as  I  could 
wish.  At  six  o'clock  I  found  Ebba  at  the  appointed  place, 
ready  dressed,  full  of  enthusiasm,  and  impatiently  awaiting 
me.  With  the  exception  of  the  domestics,  nobody  was  up  but 
she,  and  so  we  set  out.  At  first  she  talked,  leaped,  laughed, 
and  sang,  rejoicing  in  her  hfe,  like  a  bird  ;  but  w^hen  we  had 
reached  a  large,  beautiful,  and  thick  w^ood,  whicli  lies  about 
midway  between  Carlsfors  and  E-osenvik,  then  she  became 
suddenly  quiet.  It  was,  in  fact,  a  situation  calculated  to 
excite  pleasant  and  serious  thought  at  the  same  time.  It  was 
perfectly  still ;  large  dewdrops  hung  on  the  leaves  of  the 
trees,  and  with  golden  rays  broke  the  sun  through  the  wood, 
producing  amid  the  rich  foliage  innumerable  beautiful  eftects 
of  light  and  shade.  The  air  was  indescribably  pure  and  de- 
licious. Ebba  involuntarily  went  slower  and  slower,  and  I 
walked  silently  beside  her.  A  solemn  mood  was  over  me.  I 
threw  now  and  then  a  glance  at  Ebba.  A  soft  paleness  over- 
spread her  beautiful  young  face ;  a  certain  new  perception 
might  be  read  there  ;  large  tears  were  in  her  eyes,  which 

*  Tliis  outpouring  oF  feeling  doe«  not  appear  here.  The  liberty  has  been  taken 
3f  exclufling  from  these  letters  of  a  young  wife  tliat  which  was  only  intended  fof 
Maria,  and  the  reader's  pardon  is  not  besought  on  that  account.  For  the  most 
part,  the  winding-up  of  the  letters  has  been  omitted,  which  of  all  *»'nding&-uj 
tave  appeared  to  us  to  be  the  most  tedious  and  the  leust  instructive. 


"FBAKSISKA  WERIJTEE  TO  MARIA  M. 


119 


looted  slowly  around  as  if  full  of  astonishment— they  beheld 
a  new  world ! 

At  that  moment  a  bird  struck  up  wonderful,  enchanting 
notes.  One  might  have  said  that  he  was  animated  by  a 
thinking  soul. 

"  Oh !  what  is  that  ?"  asked  Ebba,  astonished,  and  standing 
still. 

"It  is  a  nightingale,"  I  replied,  rejoicing  no  little  in  the 
beloved,  but  so  rarely-heard  song. 

Ebba  listened  long,  looked  long,  as  if  listening  to  every- 
thing around  her.  It  seemed  as  if  her  spiritual  ear  had  now, 
for  the  first  time,  awoke  to  the  high  song  of  life. 

"Gracious  Heaven !"  whispered  she,  "how  solemn  it  is^ 
how  wonderful,  how  beautiful!" 

I  repeated  half  aloud  the  words  of  Tegner — 

Ah  !  if  so  much  of  beauty  pour  itself 
Into  each  vein  of  hfe,  and  of  creation, 
How  beautiful  must  the  great  Fountain  be, 
The  bright,  the  Eternal  ! 

Ebba  threw  herself  weeping  into  my  arms,  and  I  clasped 
her  to  me  with  sisterly  affection. 

"Ah,  Eransiska,"  said  she,  "I  know  not  how  I  feel.  I 
am  happy,  and  yet  I  must  weep  !  It  is  so  beautiful,  so  great, 
so  wonderful  around  me.    Tell  me,  what  is  this  like  ?" 

"  Life,"  I  replied. 

"Life?"  repeated  she,  astonished;  "but  life  has  such  va- 
rious, such  unaccordant  scenes." 

"Yes,"  said  I,  "but  that  which  we  see  at  this  moment 
resembles  the  truth  of  life ;  the  inward  reality  of  life — which 
is  serious,  yet  at  the  same  time  joyful." 

Ebba  laid  her  hand  on  her  forehead.  "  I  do  not  perfectly 
understand  you,"  said  she;  "but  I  think  I  half  guess. 
Thoughts  pass  through  my  mind,  but  I  cannot  arrange 
them." 

"  In  time,  my  dear  Ebba,"  I  replied,  "  you  will  understand 
them  better." 

"And  if  I  understood  that  seriousness  of  life,"  said  she, 
"of  which  you  speak,  should  I  then  be  joyful,  and  laugh  as 
now?" 

"O  yes!"  I  answered;  "then,  for  the  first  time,  Ebba, 


120 


TDflE  KEIGHBOITBS. 


would  you  be  truly  joyful  and  tappy ;  then  you  would  not, 
as  now,  have  so  much  ill-humour  and  so  many  weary  mo- 
ments." 

"  I  will  learn  the  seriousness  of  life,"  said  she,  cheerfully. 

But  then,  who  will  teach  me  ?  Jane  Marie  cannot  do  it. 
You  could,  but  then  I  shall  so  soon  leave  you." 

"  Do  you  know,  Ebba,"  asked  I,  "whom  this  wood-scene 
also  resembles  ?" 

"Whom?" 

"  Tour  husband,"  I  replied. 

Ebba  looked  at  me  with  sparkling  eyes.  "  I  believe  you  are 
right,"  she  said. 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  his  spirit  is  both  serious  and  bright.  And 
if  you  will  learn  the  seriousness  of  life,  and  its  beauty  also, 
live  for  him,  Ebba.  O  Ebba  !  be  like  the  nightingale  to  his 
domestic  life ;  be  to  him  like  the  sunbeams  between  these 
trees  ;  unite  yourself  inwardly  to  him  ;  be  guided  by  him  ; 
make  him  happy ;  and  then  you  will  understand  that  which 
is  the  best  happiness  of  life,  and  will  acquire  a  worth  in  your 
own  eyes,  with  God  and  with  man." 

Ebba  was  pale,  kissed  my  hand,  and  wept. 

But,  ah !  how  lovely  were  those  tears  upon  the  young 
cheek.  They  announced  the  morning-dawn  of  womanhood  in 
a  hitherto  childish  being  ! 

I  left  Ebba  to  her  own  thoughts,  and  we  went  on  our  way 
silently  towards  Bosenvik.  It  was  only  when  we  arrived 
there  that  she  aroused  herself  from  her  quiet  reflections  ;  and 
then  the  foaming  milk,  which  we  took  in  glasses  out  of  the 
milk-pail,  seemed  to  us  a  drink  worthy  of  the  gods.  Ebba 
could  not  conceive  that  Audumbla's  could  be  like  common 
milk,  and  I  did  not  entirely  undeceive  her. 

My  intercoiu'se  with  Ebba  during  the  remainder  of  the 
day  strengthened  my  opinion  of  her.  Many  good  natural 
qualities  lie  hidden,  which,  if  properly  developed  and  culti- 
vated, would  make  her  a  good  and  estimable  being.  There 
is,  it  is  true,  much  in  her  that  is  childish,  but  I  have  every 
reason  to  pardon  that  in  her  seventeenth  year,  which  I  at 
seven-and-twenty  

Ebba  at  one  time  fell  into  deep  and,  as  it  seemed  to  me, 
sorrowful  thought.  I  asked  her  tenderly  what  pressed  upon 
her  mind  so  much. 


FBANSISKA  WEKKEE  TO  MAEIA  M. 


121 


"  Oh,"  sighed  Ebba  deeply,  "  if  be  only  were  not  cabled 
Peter!" 

I  could  not  help  laughing  aloud  at  this  trouble.  Eut 
Ebba  sorrowfully  continued  :  "  Jane  Marie  also  thinks  Peter 
a  dreadful  name,  and  that  Jean  J acques  sounds  so  well !  O, 
how  disagreeable  that  he  should  have  been  called  Peter  !" 

I  tried  to  comfort  Ebba,  and  mentioned  to  her  the  various 
great  men  who  had  borne  the  same  name.  She  thought  but 
very  little  of  the  Apostle  Peter  ;  just  as  little  of  Czar  Peter ; 
the  Herr  Peder,  of  the  popular  song,  made  the  name  some- 
what more  poetical,  and  she  was  almost  wholly  reconciled  to 
the  name,  when  I  showed  her  that  Pedro  and  Peter  were  the 
same,  and  that  a  lately  deceased  emperor  nearly  connected 
with  our  own  royal  house  bore  the  same  name.  She  pro- 
posed to  call  her  husband  Pedro ;  I  proposed  also  various 
abbreviations ;  and,  after  all,  we  concluded  by  laughing 
heartily  at  the  whole  affair ;  so  that,  in  the  end,  Ebba  was  as 
much  satisfied  with  the  name  of  Peter  as  I  am  with  the  much 
less  poetical  name  of  Lars  Anders. 

We  ended  the  day  with  blowing  bubbles  in  the  open  cahn 
air,  with  as  much  enthusiasm  and  delight  as  if  we  were  still 
little  children  ;  and  then  I  took  her  home  in  the  cabriolet, 
giving  up  to  her  the  reins  sometimes,  to  her  no  small  de- 
light. 

I  was  quite  curious  to  see  whether  Jane  Marie  continued 
stiU  in  her  state  of  discontent ;  it  seemed  to  me  impossible  ; 
but  at  the  first  greeting  I  perceived  that  it  was  so.  I  was  quite 
depressed  at  this,  and  nearly  lost  all  my  hope  of  a  friendly 
understanding  between  us,  because  I  cannot  love  any  one 
who  is  not  reasonable  and  kind.  Conduct  Hke  this,  so  pro- 
perly called  by  the  ugly  name  of  sulking,  turns  life  into  a 
gloomy  autumn  day.  A  thousand  times  better  is  the  fiery 
temper  of  Ma  chere  mere.  She  speaks  out  violently  ;  but 
when  she  has  "  said  her  say"  it  is  all  over ;  she  once  more  is 
perfectly  kind,  nor  wears  an  angry  face  any  longer  to  those 
who  oppose  her.  JSTevertheless,  I  am  glad  that  I  have  not 
daily  to  crouch  before  her  sceptre  ;  and  the  more  I  compare 
Bear  with  other  people,  the  more  does  he  seem  like  an  angel 
of  peace. 

Ma  chere  mere  was  very  much  occupied  this  evening  with 
the  new  neighbour  at  Eamm.  Partly  because  she  had  hotird 


22 


THE  IfEiaHBOTJES. 


60  many  reports  of  him  greatly  to  his  advantage,  and  partly 
because  he  liad  now  shown  her  a  great  civility,  Ma  chere 
mere  some  time  ago  had  mentioned,  in  company,  that  she 
longed  for  a  roast  of  roebuck,  and  that  it  was  her  wish  to 
have  a  pair  of  roes,  in  order  that  she  might  introduce  the 
breed  into  the  park.  Before  her  misfortunes,  Ma  chere 
mere  was  a  great  lover  of  the  chase,  and  had  brought  down 
many  a  swift- footed  roebuck.  Her  new  neighbour  at  E;amm, 
having  heard  of  this,  had  now  sent  her  a  most  delicious 
roast — a  fat  young  roe,  which  he  had  shot ;  together  with 
two  live  specimens  of  these  creatures,  which  they  had  been 
fortunate  enough  to  take  in  snares. 

This  present  was  accompanied  by  a  very  polite  French 
note  from  the  new  neighbour ;  which  said,  that  having  acci- 
dentally heard  of  the  wish  of  the  former  proprietor  of  Ramm, 
he  now  esteemed  himself  fortunate  in  being  able  to  accom- 
plish it,  especially  as  he  should  himself  soon  become  the  pro- 
prietor of  the  estate,  and  then  would  cherish  no  higher  wish 
than  to  stand  in  friendly  connexion  with  so  estimable  a 
neighbour,  in  pledge  and  proof  of  which  he  prayed  her  to 
receive  that  which  he  had  sent.  The  letter  was  signed 
"Antonio  de  Eomilly." 

Ma  chere  mere  was  charmed  with  the  French  note,  vrith 
the  roebucks,  and  above  all  with  the  politeness  of  the  new 
neighbour. 

"  See !"  said  she,  snapping  her  fingers,  "  one  can  call  that 
savoir  vivre.  Yes,  these  southlanders  have  not  their  equals 
anwhere  in  such  things.  We  must  see  the  man.  I  will  in- 
vite him  to  my  first  great  dinner-party  ;  yes,  even  if  he  does 
not  pay  me  a  visit  before.  Such  politeness  as  this  is  worth 
seven  visits.  But  now  I  must  answer  this  note,  and  that  in 
French  too.  Fransiska  shall  read  the  note  after  I  have 
finished  it.  Thank  God,  I  have  learned  French  grammati- 
cally, and  used  to  both  write  and  to  speak  it,  as  well  as  most 
people.  Of  late  years  I  have  forgotten  something  of  it.  I 
shall  be  very  glad  to  bring  my  French  into  use  again  with 
this  polite  Monsieur  de  Eomilly.  It  will  be  right  pleasant 
to  make  his  intimate  acquaintance." 

It  must  be  right  agreeable  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  this 
man,  say  I  with  Ma  chere  mere,  because  a  person  of  whoiii 
everybody  speaks,  and  whom  nobodv  sees,  who  displays  bene* 


FRAKSISKA  WERKER  TO  MARIA  M. 


123 


ftcence  and  politeness,  yet  whom  nobody  knows,  is  incontest- 
ably  an  extraordinary  and  interesting  phenomenon. 

Ma  chere  mere  laboured  long  at  her  French  epistle,  and  as 
1  read  it  over  I  had  difficulty  to  avoid  smiling,  it  was  so  orna- 
mental and  old-fashioned.  In  part  too,  it  was  so  like  herself, 
written  in  so  thoroughly  antiquated  a  style,  yet  expressing  so 
clearly  and  forcibly  her  meaning,  that  I  considered  it  im- 
possible and  equally  unnecessary  to  alter  it.  I  left  therefore 
the  expression  "Monsieur,  et  tres  honore  voisin,"  "politessc 
magnanime,"  "present  gentil  et  courtois,"  and  such-like  ex* 
tra ordinary  words,  standing.  I  said  that  the  note  was  good 
and  Ma  chere  mere,  who  had  watched  me  with  some  little 
disquiet,  was  very  much  contented  with  the  note,  with  herself 
and  with  me. 

SOth 

Ah !  I  breathe  again.  The  air  is  at  last  clear  between  Jant 
Marie  and  me ;  and  the  south  wind  which  dispersed  the  misi 
is  called — flattery. 

The  day  before  yesterday  Eear  came  home,  satisfied  with 
himself,  his  journey,  his  business,  and  above  all  with  his  little 
wife,  who,  on  her  part,  was  not  dissatisfied  with  him.  Yester- 
day evening  was  the  Sunday's  dance  at  Carlsfors.  "We  were 
invited  by  Ma  chere  mere  to  be  present,  because  she  wished 
the  skal  to  be  drunk  to  the  two  last  arrived  married  couples, 
and  to  make  a  speech  to  the  people  on  the  occasion  ;  all 
which  would  have  been  done  on  the  Midsummer-day,  had  not 
Bear  and  Peter  been  absent. 

Ma  chere  mere  played  on  the  violin  for  the  dancing  nearly 
the  whole  evening.  Ebba  danced  from  hearty  love  of  the 
amusement,  so  did  I.  Jane  Marie  and  her  husband,  who 
were  out  visiting,  came  in  late,  and  were  only  spectators  oi 
the  dance.  I  poured  forth  a  stream  of  admiration  of  her 
toilet,  which  truly  was  most  tasteful,  and  at  last  the  grey 
cloud  which  had  hung  between  us  dispersed  itself,  and  Jane 
Marie  became,  to  my  indescribable  refreshment,  friendly  as 
ever.  But  with  the  Commedia  Divina  of  our  friendship  all 
is,  ^  alas !  over.  That  grieves  me.  I  wish  among  my  many 
neighbours  and  acquaintances  to  find  a  friend.  Ebba  is  too 
much  of  a  child ;  Miss  Husgafvel  too  much  of  a  bird,  and 
Ma  chore  mere — is  Ma  chere  mere.  It  would  after  all  be 
but  a  poor  pleasure  to  have  many  neighbours  but  no  friends. 


THE  NEiaHBOURS. 


After  the  dance,  Ma  cliere  mere  ordered  the  punch-bawl  to 
be  brought  in,  and  skal  to  be  drunk  to  the  newly-married. 
8 be  also  made  a  speech  thickly  interlarded  with  proverbs. 
But  upon  the  whole,  this  did  not  seem  to  be  one  of  her  most 
successful  efforts. 

Bear  takes  my  letter  with  him  to  the  town  :  I  close  it  there- 
fore in  haste.  I  wonder  whether  anybody  writes  as  long 
letters  as  I  do.  But  for  this  reason  you  are  my  Maria,  and 
I  am  your 

Pbansiska. 

CHAPTEE  VI. 

Rosenvik,  3d  July. 

As  a  bee  goes  from  flower  to  flower,  so  go  I  from  neighbour 
to  neighbour,  and  collect  honey  for  my  hive.  The  harvest 
has  been  rich  to-day;  and  no  wonder.  Tor  I  was  to-day 
with  the  flower  of  the  vaUey,  the  good  and  amiable  Serena. 

Bear  reminded  me  this  morning  that  we  had  promised  the 
old  Dahls  to  spend  a  whole  day  with  them.  He  therefore 
proposed  that  I  should  accompany  him  to  the  city  this 
morning  ;  said  he  would  deliver  me  at  the  Dahls,  and  come 
in  himself  there  to  dinner  after  he  had  visited  his  patients. 
I  was  frightened  at  this  project  at  first,  and  made  many 
objections  against  being  left  there  quite  early  in  the  morning, 
like  a  box  of  pills  or  any  other  doctor's  wares.  ISTeither  did 
it  seem  the  most  becoming  thing  in  the  world  thus  to  fall 
upon  strange  people,  and  to  establish  oneself  for  a  whole  day 
in  their  house,  whilst  all  the  time  they  perhaps  are  wishing 
the  unbidden  guest  at  Nova  Zembla.  But  against  all  this. 
Bear,  in  his  laconic  way,  was  remarkably  eloquent,  and  over- 
turned all  my  objections  ;  add  to  which,  a  secret  thought  of 
Serena  and  the  kingdom  of  heaven  captivated  me.  I  dressed 
myself  simply  but  prettily,  according  to  Bear's  taste ;  and 
away  rolled  the  cabriolet  containing  Bear  and  his  little  wife. 

I  was  properly  delivered  up  at  time  and  place  appointed. 
Bear  took  it  into  his  obstinate  head  not  to  go  in  with  me.  I 
should  go  and  speak  for  myself.  In  vain  I  represented  to 
him  that  I  was  not  so  fortunate  as  a  physic-bottle,  which  at 
the  very  least  takes  with  it  a  paper  label,  whereon  is  indi- 
cated for  what  purpose  it  may  serve  ;  and  as  for  me,  nobody 


yRANSISKA  WERTsP.K  TO  MARlA  M. 


125 


m  the  house  would  know  what  was  to  be  done  with  ine* 
Bear  said  that  I  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  greet  them  froui 
him  in  a  proper  way,  and  that  this  and  my  countenance  toge« 
ther  would  do  what  was  needful. 
We  parted  quarrelling. 

As  I  went  up  the  steps  alone,  it  appeared  to  me  that  I 
could  be  of  no  more  value  than  a  person  who  comes  with  the 
intention  of  borrowing  money  ;  but  scarcely  had  I  entered 
the  door  than  I  was  ready  to  believe  that  I  must  be  either 
"  the  cream  to  the  colFee"  or  some  much-longed-for  present, 
so  was  I  rejoiced  over,  and  welcomed,  and  embraced ;  all 
which  I  felt  in  my  grateful  soul  to  be  set  down  to  the  account 
of  my  Bear.  1  arrived  just  as  they  sate  down  to  colFee,  ate, 
drank,  talked,  and  felt  myself,  in  short,  like  a  child  of  the 
house. 

And  now  I  will  send  you  in  prose  a  description  of  the 
family  which  I  have  already  drawn  in  poetical  colours.  They 
bear  the  same  relation  to  each  other  as  an  every-day  and  a 
holiday — but  both  are  of  the  kingdom  of  heaven.  I  speak 
not  now  of  my  own  impressions,  but  from  information  which 
I  have  had  from  Miss  Hellevi  Husgafvel  and  Ma  chere  mere. 

THE  HOME. 

For  above  half  a  century  this  ancient  couple  have  inhabited 
the  same  house  and  the  same  rooms.  There  were  they  mar- 
ried, and  there  they  will  celebrate  their  golden-nuptials  in 
the  course  of  the  next  winter.  The  rooms  are  unchanged, 
the  furniture  the  same  as  for  fifty  years ;  yet  everything  is 
clean,  comfortable,  and  friendly,  as  in  a  one-year-old  dwelling. 
But  it  is  more  simple  than  the  houses  of  our  times.  I  know 
not  what  spirit  of  peace  and  grace  it  is  which  blows  upon  me 
in  this  house.  Ah !  in  this  house  fifty  years  have  passed  as 
a  beautiful  day.  Here  a  virtuous  couple  have  lived,  loved, 
and  worked  together.  Many  a  pure  joy  has  blossomed  here  ; 
and  when  sorrow  came,  it  was  not  bitter,  for  the  fear  of  God 
and  love  illuminated  the  dark  clouds.  Hence  emanated  many 
a  noble  deed  and  many  a  beneficent  influence.  The  happv 
children  grew  up  ;  they  gathered  strength  from  the  example 
of  their  parents,  went  out  into  the  world,  built  for  themselves 
homes  like  this,  and  were  good  and  fortunate.  Often  do  they 
return  with  love  and  joy  to  the  parental  home,  to  bless  anvl 


126 


THE  KEIGHBC  UES. 


to  be  blessed.  Ab,  my  Maria !  I  feel  tbai  I  am  again  sliding 
into  tbe  poetical  vein.  But  wbat  would  you  bave  ?  Tbere  are 
pictures  of  every-day  life,  wbich,  let  me  turn  tbem  as  I  will, 
always  stand  in  a  poetical  ligbt.  Yet  I  will  endeavour  to 
keep  more  to  tbe  eartb.  Tbus  tbe  cbildren,  tbree  sons  and 
four  daugbters,  come  once  a  year  witb  tbeir  cbildren  to  visit 
tbeir  beloved  parents,  and  extend  new  life  in  tbe  bome  of 
tbeir  cbildbood — tbat  bome  wbicb  is  still  to  tbem  as  full  of 
love  and  goodness  as  ever.  It  bas  only  become  stiller  and 
more  peaceful ;  because  it  is  evening  tbere,  and  tbe  sbadows 
of  tbe  grave  begin  to  ascend  round  tbe  revered  parents. 
And  now  let  us  glance  at  tbem. 

THE  OLD  GEIS^TLEMAN. 

A  long  life  of  probity,  industry,  and  beneficence,  bas  iin 
pressed  itself  upon  bis  expansive  forehead  and  upon  bis  open 
benevolent  carriage.  His  figure  is  yet  firm,  and  bis  gait 
steady.  The  lofty  crown  is  bald,  but  a  garland  of  silver- 
wbite  locks  surrounds  tbe  venerable  bead.  No  one  in  tbe 
town  sees  tbis  bead  witbout  bowing  in  friendly  and  reveren- 
tial greeting.  Tbe  whole  country  as  well  as  tbe  town  loves 
him  as  tbeir  benefactor,  and  venerates  him  as  tbeir  patriarch . 
He  bas  created  bis  own  fortune ;  bas  sacrificed  much  for  the 
public  good ;  and,  notwithstanding  much  adversity  and  loss, 
never  let  his  spirit  sink.  In  mind  and  conversation,  be  is 
still  cheerful,  and  even  full  of  jest  and  sprightliness  ;  but  for 
several  years  his  sight  has  failed  him  greatly  ;  and  tbe  gout, 
wbicb  makes  its  appearance  at  times,  troubles  bis  temper. 
Ah !  the  prose  of  life !  But  an  angel  moves  around  the 
couch  to  which  suffering  may  confine  him  ;  his  feet  are  moved 
and  enwrapped  by  soft  white  bands ;  the  sick  chamber  and 
the  countenance  of  the  old  man  grow  bright — before  Serena ! 

We  shall  not  come  out  of  the  poetry  of  the  bouse  whilst 
she  abides  there. 

THE  OLD  LADY. 

An  aged  countenance  and  a  bowed  form,  and  you  see  an 
old  woman ;  but  show  her  something  beautiful,  speak  to  her 
of  something  amiable,  and  her  mien,  her  smile,  beams  from 
the  eternal  youth  which  dwells  immortal  in  her  sensitive 
Bpirit.    Then  will  you  involuntarily  exclaim,  "  Wbat  a  beuu* 


FEANSISKA  WEEJ^ER  TO  MARii  M. 


127 


tiful  old  lady  !"  If  you  sit  near  her  and  Icok  into  her  mild 
pious  eyes,  you  feel  as  if  you  could  open  your  whole  soul, 
and  believe  in  every  word  she  speaks  as  in  the  Gospel.  She 
has  lived  through  much  and  experienced  much,  yet  she  says 
that  she  will  live  in  order  to  learn.  Truly  we  must  learn 
from  her.  Her  tone  and  her  demeanour  betoken  true 
breeding  and  much  knowledge  of  life.  She  alone  has  edu- 
cated her  children,  and  still  she  thinks  and  acts  both  for 
children  and  children's  children  ;  still  bears  home  and  family 
cares  on  her  own  shoulders,  although  she  now  supports  herself 
on  Serena. 

Since  the  death  of  her  youngest  daughter,  she  is  become 
somewhat  melancholy.  This  is  not  observable  in  her  words, 
but  in  her  frequent  sighs.  Like  her  husband,  she  is  univer- 
sally revered  and  beloved  ;  and  all  agree  in  this,  that  a  more 
perfect  union  than  exists  between  this  couple  cannot  be 
imagined. 

Will  you  see  in  one  little  circumstance  a  miniature  picture 
of  the  whole  ?  Every  evening  the  old  man  himself  roasts 
two  apples — every  evening  when  they  are  done  he  gives  one 
of  them  to  his  "  handsome  old  wife,"  as  he  calls  her.  Thus 
for  fifty  years  have  they  divided  everything  with  each  other. 

The  good  old  lady  called  me  Fransiska  immediately ;  and 
addressed  me  vdth  the  pronoun  thou,  in  a  kind  grandmotherlj 
tone  that  did  my  heart  good.  I  can  like  Ma  chere  mere,  but 
I  could  love  this  dear  old  lady. 

And  now  to  the  third  person — the  peculiar  beauty  and 
ornament  of  the  house. 

SERENA. 

Her  mother  was  called  Benjamina,  and  was  like  the 
Eenjamia  of  the  Bible — ^the  youngest  and  best-beloved  child 
of  her  parents.  When  scarcely  eighteen  she  married  a  young 
man,  who  both  possessed  and  deserved  her  whole  love.  It 
was  a  marriage  beautiful  as  a  spring  day,  but  too  soon  cut 
short !  The  daughter,  who  after  two  years  was  the  fruit  of 
this  marriage,  was  named  Seren-a ;  and  with  her  birth  the 
mother's  days  on  earth  were  ended.  She  blessed  her 
daughter  and  died.  The  father  followed  her  in  a  few  months. 
They  could  not  longer  be  separated.  The  cradle  of  the  little 
oi*phan  was  taken  to  tb'r  house  of  the  grandparents.  Serena 


128 


TRJ5  NEIGHBOURS. 


was  their  comfort,  and  soon  also  their  loveliest  joy  ;  and  not 
theirs  only,  for  Serena  was  beloved  by  all  their  friends  and 
acquaintance. 

The  beautiful  life  of  her  parents  and  their  early  death 
had  thrown  over  the  motherless  child  the  mourning  weeds 
which  draw  forth  so  easily  the  sympathetic  tears  of  good 
people.  Her  childhood  was  one  of  suffering,  a  weakness  in 
the  hip,  which  kept  her  long  confined,  and  cut  her  off  from 
the  pastimes  of  children,  paled  her  cheeks,  and  gave  to  her 
lips  that  quiet  smile  of  sadness  which  yet  dweUs  there  at 
times  with  all  the  power  of  a  mysterious  enchantment.  All 
this,  united  to  her  quiet  patience,  and  the  intrinsic  amiability 
of  her  whole  being,  captivated  all  hearts,  and  won  for  her  the 
sympathy  of  aU.. 

For  a  long  time  it  seemed  as  if  the  languishing  angel 
would  extend  her  wings,  and  foUow  the  ascension  of  her 
parents  ;  but  it  was  not  to  be  so.  Watchful  and  true  affec- 
tion kept  her  still  on  earth.  Like  a  rose  on  a  sunny  grave, 
like  a  young  vine  which  clings  with  its  tender  twigs  around 
firm  and  ancient  stems,  so  Serena  grew  up,  gladdened  by  the 
loving  looks  of  friends,  and  tenderly  sustained  and  led  by 
those  who  had  been  the  support  of  her  parents.  She  became 
healthy ;  smiled,  played,  developed  herself,  and  ripened  by 
little  and  little  to  a  beautiful,  harmonious  being. 

She  learned  everything  with  a  degree  of  difficulty,  but  she 
retained  what  she  learned  in  a  faithful  memory.  Always 
timid  to  begin,  she  never  relinquished  that  which  she  had 
once  begun  till  it  was  completed,  and  well  completed.  Thus 
her  teachers,  who  were  in  the  beginning  impatient,  were  in 
the  end  always  satisfied.  Serena  was  not  richly  endowed, 
but  she  did  all  so  well,  and  then — she  was  so  good,  so  true, 
so  affectionate ! 

So  she  grew  up,  and  became  the  flower  of  the  vaUey.  The 
earnestness  of  her  spirit,  the  clearness  of  her  understanding, 
made  her  happy  ;  happy  with  the  joy  of  angels — the  pure, 
animating,  self-communicating  joy. 

"Look  at  Serena!"  said  every  mother  in  the  country  io 
lier  daughter.  The  daughters  looked  at  her,  and  endeavoured 
to  resemble  her  whom  they  could  not  help  loving. 

But  the  prose  in  this  picture,  the  earthly  feature  in  this 
ftngel-image  !    Ah,  also  this  must  be  told ;  Serena  is  lame 


FRANSISKA  WEEJs^ER  TO  MAEIA  M. 


129 


in  her  hip.  The  word  frightens  me,  and  I  atn  ready  to  ex- 
claim *'^[o!"  to  that  which  I  have  just  said.  And  if  you 
imagine  Serena  to  be  a  limping,  crooked  figure,  I  do  cry  out 
with  all  my  might,  "  No  !  no  !  no  !  it  is  not  so  !"  You  must 
imagine  a  graceful,  perfectly  lovely  figure,  which,  wiien  walk- 
ing, slightly  bends  forward  without  being  disfigured  thereby. 
Her  lameness  gives  a  slow  undulating  motion,  which  appears 
rather  like  an  exception  to  the  rule,  than  as  a  real  defect.  Is 
it  the  remembrance  of  a  suffering,  or  the  tone  of  her  whole 
being,  which  so  completely  conceals  this  fault  of  nature  ? 
Whatever  it  may  be,  it  inspires  no  other  feeling  in  those  who 
see  her,  but  an  involuntary  desire  to  support  her. 

Serena's  appearance,  in  other  respects,  you  must  imagine 
from  my  former  description.  The  innocence  of  her  brow,  the 
clear  child-like  gleam  of  her  blue  eyes,  charmed  me  as  much 
now  as  when  I  saw  her  first ;  and  I  thought  her  still  lovelier 
in  her  simple  every-day  dress,  than  in  her  festival  garb. 

I  must  not  forget  Grull-gul,  who  flew  twittering  around 
his  lovely  mistress.  Madame  Dahl  told  me,  when  I  inquired 
how  the  little  creature  became  so  tame,  that  during  the 
severe  winter  of  two  years  ago,  Serena  found  the  little 
creature  lying  half-dead  on  the  house  floor.  She  took  him  up, 
cherished  and  fed  him.  The  sparrow  recovered;  and  since 
then  has  been  as  attached  to  Serena  as  if  he  understood  how 
to  be  grateful.  It  is  true  that  Serena  tenderly  cares  for  him, 
as  she  does  for  everything  that  is  under  her  charge.  He  goes 
into  his  cage  to  eat,  but,  excepting  at  night,  is  never  con- 
fined. 

And  now  about  myself,  since  I  must  not  forget  myself. 
Madame  Dahl  begged  me  to  sing  (how  agreeable  it  is  to  be 
possessed  of  one  little  talent)  :  I  obeyed,  was  applauded,  and 
thanked  with  warmth. 

"  And  now  Serena  must  sing  some  little  thing,"  said  old 
Mr.  Dahl,  quite  gaily. 

"  O  grandfather!"  said  she,  blushing,  "  how  it  Tvill  sound 
after  that  which  we  have  just  heard !" 

"  My  dear  child,"  replied  the  old  man,  smiling,  "do  not 
let  Madame  "Werner  hear  that  you  are  vain." 

"  No,"  returned  Serena  joyfully,  "  and  on  that  very  account 
Madame  Werner  shall  hear  my  weak,  hoarse  voice." 

Sh^  sat  down  immediately  to  the  instrument,  and  sang  a 

X 


130 


THE  NEIGHBOIJES. 


sweet  little  gem-like  song  of  Lindeblad's.  Her  voice  was  not 
hoarse  but  weak,  and  evidently  not  mncli  practised  ;  but  she 
sang  with  so  much  soul,  with  so  much  thought,  in  word  and 
tone,  as  gave  me  intrinsic  delight. 

"  Yes,''  said  the  old  gentleman,  evidently  charmed  to 
the  soul,  "I  would  much  rather  hear  that  than  all  oar 
Catalanis,  Maras,  Dulcamaras,  or  whatever  they  may  be 
called,  who  are  more  of  instruments  than  singers.  This 
singing,  at  least,  I  comprehend  with  my  heart  as  well  as  my 
understanding.  If  Serena  had  only  had  opportunity  to  learn, 
then — "  and  the  old  man  looked  very  significantly. 

"  Are  there  then  not  teachers  of  singing  in  the  town  r" 
I  asked. 

"  JN^one,  with  the  exception  of  old  E.,  who  sings  terribly 
false.  Several  of  our  relations  wnshed  to  take  Serena  with 
them  to  Stockholm,  that  there  she  might  cultivate  her  talent, 
but  she  would  not  leave  us.  She  knows  very  well  that  with- 
out her  we  should  not  find  ourselves  so  well  off.  And  there- 
fore her  voice  must  remain  now  sticking  in  her  throat,  and 
moreover  will  get  quite  hoarse  because  she  reads  so  much 
Latin."  With  these  words  he  extended  his  hand  to  her,  and 
she  embraced  him  with  child-like  warmth.  Both  laughed. 
"  If  you  are  not  tired  of  singing,"  continued  he,  "  come,  my 
good  child,  and  read  me  some  Latin  out  of  this  new  book  of 
Victor — you  know  what — I  always  forget  what  the  fellow  is 
called.    Will  you,  my  child  ?" 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  answered  Serena,  and  the  two  went 
out  together. 

"  Does  Miss  Lofwen  read  Latin?"  inquired  I  with  astonish- 
ment, from  Madame  Dahl. 

"  Ah,  it's  all  nonsense!"  said  the  good  old  lady  smiling. 
"  Since  my  old  eyes  have  become  so  weak  Serena  has  read  to 
him.  His  favourite  reading  is  novels  and  romances  ;  the 
last  of  which,  he  says,  preserve  his  soul  young.  Now  when 
there  occurred  passages  in  these  books  which  Serena  thought 
not  quite  proper  to  read  aloud,  she  was  accustomed  to  skip 
them  ;  but  when  it  happened  that  this  could  not  well  be  done, 
she  said,  *  there  is  some  Latin  here!'  My  husband,  who  ia 
sometimes  half  asleep  during  the  reading,  let  the  excuse  pass 
for  some  time,  although  he  thought  it  rather  odd  that  Latin 
should  so  often  occur. 


FRAJS'SISKA.  WERNER  TO  MARIA  M. 


131 


*^  ^  It  is  an  extraordinary  way  of  writing,'  said  lie  some- 
times, *  that  our  modern  authors  have  got ;  it  is  a  cursed 
pedantry,'  etc,  and  he  got  quite  excited  about  it.  One  day, 
however,  it  happened  that  Latin  came  so  very  often  in  the 
book  she  was  reading,  that  my  old  man,  astonished  in  the 
highest  degree,  began  to  search  the  matter  to  the  bottom. 
When  Serena  had  finished  reading  and  left  him  to  himself, 
he  put  on  his  double  spectacles  and  began  to  study  this 
imagined  Latin.  He  soon,  therefore,  discovered  how  it  was; 
and  now  this  Latin  is  a  standing  point  in  his  jokes  against 
Serena,  w^hom  however  he  persuaded  by  little  and  little  to  be 
less  exact  regarding  the  Latin.'' 

"We  continued  for  a  long  time  to  talk  about  Serena,  and 
the  good  old  lady  listened  with  pleasure  to  all  that  I  said 
respecting  her  favourite.    At  length,  said  she,  with  a  sigh, 

and  yet  she  is  much  less  lovely  now  than  she  was.  It  seems 
to  me  that  for  the  last  year  she  has  become  thinner,  and  she 
coughs  at  times.  I  fear  that  the  confined  life  she  leads 
with  us  is  injurious  to  her.  Dr.  "Werner  has  ordered  coun- 
try air  and  exercise.  Many  of  our  acquaintance  have  begged 
Serena  to  come  to  their  country-seats  ;  but  she  will  not  leave 
us,  and  we  ourselves  do  not  know  properly  what  we  should 
do  without  her,  especially  my  husband,  who  will  not  hear  of 
her  leaving  us.  We  have,  therefore,  thought  next  summer 
of  renting  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  city  a  little  country- 
house,  where  we  could  have  her  with  us,  and  yet  benefit  her 
health.  In  the  mean  time  she  must  as  often  as  possible  ride 
on  horseback  in  the  country,  and  I  and  my  husband  will 
accompany  her  in  the  carriage.  We  think  of  beginning  this 
regimen  next  week,  when  Serena  wdll  have  a  nice  little  safe 
horse." 

Here  I  interrupted  her  to  inquire  if  it  would  not  be 
possible  that  Serena  should  take  her  rides  to  Eosenvik,  and 
should  now  and  then  remain  wdth  me  the  whole  day  ?  I 
would  take  the  greatest  care  of  her ;  w^e  would  be  out 
together  in  the  fresh  air,  we  would  drink  new  milk,  we  would 
sing  together ;  and  God  knows  what  I  did  not  say  beside,  for 
a  flood  of  eloquence  came  over  me. 

The  old  lady  thanked  me,  looked  half  pleased  and  half 
troubled ;  did  not  know  whether  it  could  be  done,  and  said 

I  2 


132 


THE  NEIGHBOTJES. 


at  last  witli  a  sigh,  "  "We'll  see  what  my  husband  says ;  we 
will  speak  with  him." 

I  will  speak  with  my  Bear  too,  thought  I,  and  get  him  on 
my  side,  and  then  who  can  withstand  us  ?  I  was  possessed 
with  the  greatest  possible  zeal  to  accomplish  the  affair. 
Bear  came,  and  the  moment  he  entered  the  door  I  surprised 
him  with  my  project. 

"  My  sweet  Bear !  if  you  love  me,  you  must  take  my  side, 
and  speak  for  me  and  with  me,  that  Serena  come  to  Bosenvik, 
and  that  she  spend  a  whole  day  there.  You  see,  she  will  ride 
out  for  exercise,  that  you  yourself  have  prescribed,  angel ! 
Prescribe  now  also  that  she  ride  to  us.  Say  that  it  is  neces- 
sary to  her  health.  I  will  take  care  of  her,  I  will  sing  with 
her.  Say  this  to  the  old  people,  talk  with  them,  manage  that 
it  shall  be  done  !    You  will  do  it,  my  little  Bear  1" 

"  Heaven  help  us !  What  a  flux  de  bouche !  Could  one 
only  draw  breath! — Uf! — Now  I  see  that  you  are  pretty 
much  at  home  here,  you  Sea-cat !" 

"  Entirely  through  my  own  merits,  and  nobody  else's, Bear," 
said  I. 

Bear  was  received  and  welcomed  by  the  family  as  a  very 
dear  and  much  esteemed  friend.  He  acts  on  these  occasions 
in  a  pasha-like  manner,  and  receives  all  friendliness  and 
politeness  as  no  more  than  his  just  tribute,  and  that  may  very 
well  be  correct. 

As  I  have  placed  myself  to-day  on  the  prosaic  side  of  things, 
I  kept  at  dinner-time  a  watchful  eye  upon  this  part  of  the 
domestic  arrangement ;  for  without  completeness  in  this  re- 
spect, in  the  north  at  least,  all  the  poetry  of  life  evaporates 
like  the  odour  of  champagne.  But  I  only  discovered  that  I 
might  learn  right  much  from  Serena,  both  as  regarded  cook- 
ing, arrangement,  etc.  For  the  last  several  years  she  has 
regulated,  and  that  excellently,  the  domestic  concerns.  The 
sweet  girl  was  an  observant  and  rraceful  hostess  to  the  whole 
table,  whilst  she,  seated  by  her  liaLf-blind  grandfather,  seemed 
to  devote  lier  constant  care  to  him. 

After  dinner  I  soon  began  to  introduce  anew  my  project 
regarding  Serena.  Bear  threw  himself  with  great  reason 
and  force  upon  the  same  theme,  and  we  carried  it  through 
successfully.  At  first  the  old  gentleman  looked  thoughtful ; 
but  when  I  mentioned  how  Serena  and  I  could  practise  sing- 


FRAJfSISKA  WEENEB  TO  MARIA  M. 


133 


mg  together,  he  assented  joyfully,  shook  my  hand,  and  said 
it  was  excellent !  "When  Serena  heard  the  consent  of  her 
grandparents  given  thus  cordially,  she  showed  what  pleasure 
the  idea  afforded  her  also,  embraced  me,  and  said,  with  a  tear 
in  her  eye,  that  I  was  quite  too  good  to  take  so  much  interest 
in  her  and  her  voice. 

I  was  pleased  to  my  heart's  core,  and  being  light  in  spirit, 
everything  else  seemed  pleasant.  The  evening  passed  in 
agreeable  conversation,  Mr.  Dahl  spoke  warmly  of  Mr.  de 
Eomilly's  large  donation,  and  of  all  the  advantages  the 
country  would  derive  from  school  instruction,  of  the  kind 
and  to  the  extent  which  they  now  could  adopt.  The  old,  yet 
still  vigorous  man  was  already  in  full  activity  as  director  of 
the  scheme.  In  this,  his  seventieth  year,  he  is  as  ardent  for 
the  well-being  of  his  kind  as  any  enthusiast  of  twenty.  When 
one  sees  an  instance  of  this  kind,  one  has  a  desire  to  live 

Serena  has  the  power  of  being  unwearyingly  entertaining. 
One  cannot  exactly  say  that  her  conversation  is  in  any  way 
distinguished,  but  it  expresses  a  certain  high  tone  of  spirit 
which  I  call  womanliness.  I  wish  that  she  w^ere  my  sister. 
Oh,  if  I  could  only  possess  her  for  my  friend !  The  wish  is 
so  livingly  awake  in  me.  It  is  true  that,  compared  with  me, 
she  is  very  young,  and  she  does  not  exactly  look  upon  life 
as  I  do ;  still  she  attracts  me  irresistibly,  as  it  were,  into  her 
angel-world. 

On  our  way  home.  Bear  and  I  spoke  almost  entirely  of  her. 
Bear  was  much  more  eloquent  on  this  subject  than  he  is 
accustomed  to  be.  "  She  is  a  most  estimable  young  lady," 
said  he,  amongst  other  things.  "  It  is  quite  affecting  to  see 
how  altogether  she  quite  sacrifices  herself  for  her  old  grand- 
parents ;  how  self-forgetting  she  is  !  As  physician  in  the 
family,  I  have  had  good  opportunity  of  observing  this.  I 
know  quite  certainly  that  she  has  declined  four  good  offers  ot 
marriage  ;  people  say  more  ;  always  under  the  plea  that  she 
could  not  sufficiently  love  the  admirer ;  but  the  certain  rea- 
son was,  that  she  would  not  leave  the  old  people.  They  let 
it  be  very  well  seen  that  they  will  not  part  with  her.  Two 
years  ago,  a  young  amiable  Englishman,  who  was  most  des- 
perately in  love  with  her,  proposed    He  was  refused  like  the 


134 


THE  NEIGHBOTJBS. 


rest,  althougb  every  one  believed  that  Serena  was  not  in- 
different to  him.  He  did  not  conceal  his  despair,  fell  into 
dissipation,  and  a  year  afterwards  died  unfortunately.  People 
ascribed  this  to  the  desperate  state  of  liis  affairs,  but  cer- 
tainly the  unfavourable  termination  of  his  love  affair  was  the 
chief  occasion  of  his  misfortunes.  Be  that  as  it  may,  this 
is  certain,  that  this  circumstance  made  a  strong  impression 
on  Serena,  and  ever  since  her  mood  has  been  less  cheerful, 
and  her  cheek  has  become  paler.  But  her  calmness  and  her 
amiability,  nevertheless,  remain." 

"  May  she  gather  joy  and  roses  at  Eosenvik  !"  exclaimed  I. 

5th  July. 

I  have  seen  him !  I  have  seen  him  !  The  woodman  ;  the 
spy  ;  Don  Miguel ;  the  polite  one  ;  the  beneficent  one ;  the 
mystery, — ^in  one  word,  the  new  neighbour  at  Eamm,  Mr.  de 
Eomilly !  I  have  seen  him  !  and  if  I  were  to  live  fifty  years, 
and  never  to  see  him  again,  I  should  never  forget  him. 

Is  he  then  so  handsome  ?  I  do  not  know.  Or  so  ugly  ? 
I  do  not  know.  Is  he  so  amiable  ?  I  do  not  know.  Or  so 
unamiable  ?  I  do  not  know.  Who  is  he  like  ?  I  do  not 
know.  Is  he  a  hero  for  romance  ?  I  do  not  know.  What  is 
he  ?  I  do  not  know.  Such  were  the  questions  put  to  me  by 
Miss  Husgafvel  to-day,  and  such  were  my  answers  to  her. 

JNTow  listen,  my  Maria. 

Yesterday  afternoon  I  was  agreeably  surprised  by  a  visit 
from  the  brothers  and  sisters-in-law.  Already  had  they  made 
all  possible  voyages  of  discovery  in  my  little  world,  and  we 
were  beginning  to  get  quite  merry  and  comfortable  together, 
and  to  turn  over  the  project  of  taking  supper  altogether  on 
Svano,  when  suddenly  the  door  opened,  and  at  the  same  time 
was  darkened  by  a  tall,  strong,  and  gloomy  figure.  At  the 
first  glance  I  recognised  the  woodman,  and  was  quite  op- 
pressed. I  know  not  why,  but  it  was  as  if  a  voice  exclaimed 
to  me,  "  Samiel !  Samiel !" 

Bear  met  the  new  comer,  and  with  his  accustomed  cordial 
frankness  bade  him  welcome.  The  stranger  mentioned  his 
name  in  a  voice  that  seemed  to  me  dissonant.  Bear  intro* 
duced  me  to  him,  and  then  all  took  their  seats. 

There  is  no  one  in  the  world  who  asks  fewer  questions 
than  Bear,  and  strangers  in  particular  mi^jht  remain  for  biw 


FRAIS-SISKA  WEEKER  TO  MABIA  M. 


135 


eternal  mysteries,  Not  so  Jean  Jacques,  He  questionar 
people  without  ceremony,  although  in  an  easy  manner,  and 
not  so  as  to  offend  any  one  who  is  not  too  sensitive.  In  a 
few  minutes  he  had  inquired  from  Mr.  de  Eomilly  how  long 
he  had  been  in  Sweden,  how  long  he  thought  of  remaining 
here,  how  it  pleased  him,  and  so  on.  One  must  confess  that 
his  zeal  of  questioning  did  not  enliven  the  stranger  much  ; 
for  I  never  heard  any  one  return  such  short,  indefinite,  and 
dry  answers.  Notwithstanding  all  this,  I  was  infected  by 
Jean  Jacques,  and  even  I  inquired,  speaking  like  the  others 
in  French,  whether  Swedish  did  not  appear  to  him  a  harsh 
language.  To  my  great  astonishment,  he  answered  in  Swedish, 
with  a  foreign  accent,  yet  in  an  altogether  altered  and  me- 
lodious voice,  "  On  the  contrary,  it  appears  to  me  very  sweet, 
particularly  in  the  mouth  of  a  lady." 

"  You  speak  Swedish  ?"  said  I,  astonished. 

"  Some  years  ago,"  answered  he  in  the  same  mild  voice, 
"  I  passed  a  winter  in  Sweden,  and  learned  your  beautiful 
language  then." 

The  conversation  was  now  continued  in  Swedish ;  but  Mr, 
de  Eomilly  took  only  little  part  in  it,  although  Jean  Jacques 
did  his  utmost  to  draw  him  out,  by  touching  on  subjects 
which  must  be  familiar  to  the  stranger.  Especially  he  re- 
lated a  deal  respecting  Portugal,  its  trade  and  colonies. 
From  this  subject  the  conversation  turned  on  the  various 
races  of  mankind, — a  subject  which  Jean  Jacques  handled 
both  interestingly  and  well.  But  it  appeared  to  me  tliat  he 
was  unjust  towards  the  race  which  he  called  Ethiopic,  inas- 
much as  he  placed  them  only  in  the  same  grade  with  animals ; 
declaring  further,  that  the  JSTegro  was  totally  incapable  of  any 
higher  degree  of  culture.  Peter  in  part  combated  this 
assertion.  The  slave  trade  came  to  be  spoken  of.  To  my 
amazement,  Jean  Jacques  justified  it ;  and  asserted,  that  the 
Negro  possessed  no  value  at  all,  except  as  the  slave  of  the 
cultivated  European ;  and  could  only  as  such  enjoy  any 
degree  of  happiness. 

Peter  opposed  this  to  the  utmost,  and  on  sound  principles. 
Jean  Jacques  quoted  passages  from  Tarlton  and  G-ascoin,  in 
support  of  his  proposition.  Peter  answered  triumphantly 
with  assertions  from  Wilberforee  and  Canning.  All  thia 
time  the  stranger  spoke  not  one  word,  although  he  evidently 


136 


THE  :N"EIGHEOrES. 


listened  to  tlie  conversation  with  the  most  lively  interest; 
while  at  one  time  a  scornful,  bitter  smile  would  curl  upon 
his  lip,  at  another  an  extraordinary  flash  would  seem  to  light 
up  his  dark  eyes.  I  could  not  remove  my  gaze  from  him , 
but  it  was  impossible  to  say  to  which  side  his  opinions 
inclined.  Yet  it  appeared  to  me  that  he  listened  with  the 
greatest  satisfaction  to  Jean  Jacques,  especially  while  in  a 
long  and  zealous  speech  he  was  endeavouring  to  place  the 
Negro  in  the  lowest  point  of  view,  more  particularly  as 
regarded  his  intellectual  being ;  asserting  that  Nature  had 
herself  planted  an  impassable  barrier  against  his  advance. 

"  Do  with  the  Negro  what  you  will,"  said  Jean  Jaques  in 
conclusion,  "  heap  upon  him  education  and  enlightenment, 
still  his  understanding  will  ever  remain  slavishly  subject  to 
that  of  the  European  ;  develop  all  his  faculties,  and  he  will 
still  remain  only  a  machine  in  the  hands  of  the  European. 
He  is  designed  by  nature  to  serve  him." 

I  saw  this  while,  by  Bear's  grimaces,  that  this  speech  did 
not  much  please  him  ;  and  when  Jean  Jacques  had  finished, 
he  said  with  emphasis,  "  I  know  not  whether  the  Negro  be 
capable  of  a  higher  intellectual  development,  neither  do  I 
know  whether,  after  all,  the  intellect  be  the  most  important 
part  of  the  human  conformation,  but  this  I  do  know,  that  the 
Negro  is  a  man,  and  as  a  man  he  is  my  brother." 

"  Brother  !"  repeated  De  Romilly,  in  a  voice  which  startled 
me,  so  extraordinarily  wild  and  almost  threatening  did  it 
sound. 

"Yes,"  replied  Bear  with  warmth,  "I  say  brother;  and 
whoever  trades  in  his  life  or  his  freedom  is  a  monster — is 
worse  than  a  murderer." 

"A  murderer!"  repeated  the  stranger,  with  a  spasmodic 
contraction  of  the  eyebrows,  and  in  such  a  gloomy  voice  as 
involuntarily  turned  all  eyes  upon  him.  The  expression  of 
his  countenance  changed  again,  and  he  remarked  quietly, 
but  earnestly,  to  Bear,  "  Monsieur,  je  pense  entierement 
comme  vous." 

He  said  no  more,  but  sate  as  if  his  thoughts  were  sunk  into 
himself,  nor  appeared  to  pay  the  slightest  attention  to  the 
after-conversation  which  Jean  Jacques  had  led,  with  his 
usual  ease,  to  subjects  quite  different. 

-After  a  while  I  s[)oke  auain  of  our  little  excursion  to 


FEA^SISKA  WEENER  TO  MAEIA  M. 


137 


Svano,  and  proposed  to  the  whole  company  that  they  should 
immediately  adjourn  there,  whilst  I  would  follow  them  a 
little  later  with  the  collation. 

Mr.  de  Eomilly  did  not  seem  to  have  much  taste  for  so 
pastoral  a  meal.  He  excused  himself,  and  shortly  after  took 
his  leave ;  and  we,  as  we  were  about  to  set  off  to  Svano,  saw 
him  mount  his  beautiful  black  horse,  and  with  a  polite  part- 
ing salutation  vanished  amid  the  green  trees. 

I  felt  myself  relieved  when  he  was  gone  ;  and  yet  in- 
voluntarily I  looked  after  him  with  the  desire  to  obtain  yet 
one  more  glance  of  that  dark  handsome  figure. 

We  proceeded  to  Svano,  and  had  a  merry  evening  there. 
The  green  grass  seemed  to  neutralise  all  pretensions  and 
claims  to  precedence :  Jane  Marie  and  Ebba  drank  milk  out 
of  the  same  glass  ! 

Bat  as  yet  I  can  speak  of  nothing  but  the  stranger,  and 
for  the  whole  evening  could  think  of  nothing  else.  Jane 
Marie  bantered  me  on  my  absence  of  mind.  I  cannot  get  his 
image  from  my  thoughts.  I  have  now  seen  en  face  this 
much-talked-of  neighbour  ;  and  yet  I  know  not  what  I  should 
say  of  him.  The  first  impression  which  he  makes  is  of  great 
simplicity,  and  at  the  same  time  of  great  power,  but  a  power 
that  would  be  oppressive.  He  reminds  me  of  a  beautiful 
thunder-cloud.  He  is  very  tall ;  of  a  strong  build,  and 
rather  stout  than  otherwise.  The  countenance  strong  and 
manly,  with  a  very  dark  complexion.  Several  scars,  as  of 
sabre  wounds,  no  way  disfigured  the  face.  An  agreeable  ex- 
pression at  times  plays  about  the  mouth ;  but  that  which 
spoils  the  whole  countenance,  and  gives  at  the  same  time  a 
something  startling,  nay,  almost  hideous  to  it,  is  his  habit  of 
contracting  together  the  great  black  eyebrows,  till  they  form 
together  one  direct  line  over  the  nose.  As  soon  as  they 
separate  again  the  countenance  brightens,  and  one  is  almost 
compelled  to  exclaim,  "  It  is  beautiful !"  Under  those  brows 
are  seated  a  pair  of  eyes  which  I  cannot  understand.  They 
seem  to  be  changeably  black  and  burnt-yellow.  Sometimes 
too,  even  when  the  mouth  speaks,  the  eyes  will  be  perfectly 
inexpressive  ;  again  they  will  fix  themselves  with  such  a  keen, 
penetrating  glance,  that  one  quails  involuntarily  before 
them  ;  again  they  will  sometimes  flash  forth  glances  suddenly, 
ike  flames  bursting  abroad  in  night.    This  wonderful  and 


138 


THE  ^^EIaHBOUES. 


rapid  cliange  prevails  in  his  voice  likewise ;  and  I  am  sur- 
prised if  it  do  not  go  even  deeper  than  this.  Another  thing 
I  also  noticed  in  him,  which  I  consider  a  bad  omen,  because  I 
have  observed  it  in  other  men  of  violent  passions,  that  is,  a 
vein  upc^n  the  forehead,  which  has  the  exact  form  of  the 
thunderbolt,  especially  when  any  excitement  strongly  agitates 
him. 

Eor  the  rest,  his  demeanour  pleases  me.  It  is  perfectly 
simple,  without  any  trace  of  constraint,  or  any  pretensions 
whatever,  and  yet  at  the  same  time  he  has  nothing  frank 
about  him,  and  nothing  which  inspires  confidence.  He  seems 
to  me  like  some  powerful  element,  of  which  I  know  not 
whether  it  be  good  or  bad,  whether  it  will  destroy  or  make 
happy.  But  if  those  wonderful  eyes  were  rivetted  in  love  on 
any  one  ;  if  this  voice  spoke  words  of  love — then,  believe  me, 
they  would  be  dangerous.  Above  all,  I  have  never  seen  any 
one  who  so  much  resembled  a  mystery.  I  have  both  desire 
and  anxiety  to  acquire  a  thorough  understanding  of  him. 

But  thank  God  that  my  Bear  is  no  gloomy  secret ;  that  his 
soul  is  clear  and  undisguised  as  Grod's  daylight !  This  con- 
stitutes the  blessedness  of  united  life,  and  the  peace  of  home. 

July  6th. 

To-morrow  Baron  Stellan  S.  comes.  I  cannot  say  that  I 
rejoice  about  it.  Bear  is  quite  ardent  with  preparations  for 
his  reception.  There  is  scarcely  anything  good  enough  for 
him.  He  will  be  treated  and  petted  as  if  he  were  a  little 
coquettish  countess.  Such  a  dainty  gentleman  must  be  a 
weariful  guest,  especially  at  the  rustic  liosenvik. 

"  Yes,  yes,  Bear !  he  shall  have  your  Turkish  slippers. 
The  real  china  wash-hand  basin.  Yes,  yes,  child!  Your 
favourite  shall  have  all !" 

I  wish  the  gentleman  of  the  bedchamber  sate  in  Constanti- 
nople !  However,  Bear  is  so  happy ;  he  likes  the  man  so, 
that  on  his  account  I  will  appear  amiable. 

lOth  July. 

Baron  Stellan  is  here  now;  all  goes  on  excellently  with  tho 
cousin.  He  is  polite,  agreeable,  seems  satitsfied  with  every- 
tlnng,  and  is  one  with  whom  it  is  extremely  easy  to  live.  He 
takes  walks  with  Bear,  talks  of  physic  and  politics  with  him. 
While  1  work,  he  either  reads  aloud  to  me,  or  chats  pleasantly* 


TKANSISKA  WERNER  TO  MARIA  M. 


139 


One  soon  becomes  as  well  acquainted  with  liim,  as  if  one  had 
known  him  for  years.  It  is  true  that  life  in  the  country 
assists  a  great  deal,  particularly  when  persons  are  together 
the  whole  day. 

Bear  has  desired  me,  on  Cousin  Stellan's  account,  to  stay 
at  home ;  and  to  make  it  a  point  that  he  shall  find  in  our 
house  both  pleasure  and  contentment.  Bear  loves  his  former 
ward  with  all  his  heart.  See  here  his  portrait,  made  with  a 
few  flourishes  of  the  pen. 

I  could  almost  name  him  as  the  opposite  of  De  Eomilly. 
This  one  resembles  a  vast,  wild,  natural  scene.  I  might 
compare  Stellan  to  a  lovely,  perfect,  well-kept  English  plea- 
sure-garden. A  fine  education  has  polished  Cousin  Stellan, 
and  made  the  very  best  of  him.  His  handsome  and  graceful 
figure  presents  itself  easily.  The  un constraint  of  his  carriage 
ennobles  his  natural  gifts.  The  mouth,  round  which  plays 
at  times  an  elegant  and  rather  sarcastic  smile,  shows,  when 
it  opens,  the  most  beautiful  teeth,  whose  whiteness  is  set  oS 
the  more  by  the  dark-coloured  moustache.  The  eyes  are  not 
large,  but  they  have  a  fine  expression  ;  and  the  dark  brown 
hair  falls  in  graceful  curls  upon  the  white  forehead.  The 
toilet  is  performed  with  the  most  extraordinary  care  and 
much  taste.    What  can  I  say  more  ? 

Cousin  Stellan  has  many  talents  ;  draws,  sings  well,  talks 
m  the  most  agreeable  manner  ;  and  has  with  all  this,  at  least 
in  the  country,  something  unassuming  in  tone  and  bearing, 
for  which  one  thanks  him,  especially  when  one  takes  into 
consideration  his  position  in  society  and  his  prospects  in 
life. 

Somewhat  too  much,  I  think,  he  busies  himself  with  hia 
toilet.  But  there  is  nothing  bad  in  that.  It  is  so  very 
natural  for  one  who  is  young,  rich,  and  handsome,  to  do  so. 

11th. 

He  is  wonderful,  the  worthy  Cousin  Stellan  ;  and  I  cannot 
understand  really  what  he  properly  is  !  In  the  first  place,  I  see 
that  he  is  not  a  true  Christian.  Yesterday  evening  he  spoke 
a  deal  about  Mohammedanism,  and  caUed  it  the  wisest  and 
best  of  all  religions ;  he  praised  the  Koran  as  the  best  of 
books.    He  declared  quite  caradidly  that  he  wished  with  aU 


140 


THE  NEiaHBOURS. 


his  heart  that  he  had  been  born  either  a  Turk  or  a  Persian, 
that  he  might  have  spent  all  his  days  in  oriental  pleasures—- 
might  have  had  his  serail  and  such  like. 

I  was  quite  excited  at  this  speech,  and  contended  warmly 
against  the  Koran,  without  knowing  much  about  its  contents, 
and  said  many  contemptuous  things  against  all  these  Turkish 
ideas.  Cousin  Stellan  did  not  allow  himself  to  be  disturbed 
by  all  this,  but  spoke  his  thoughts  with  reference  to  the 
highest  state  of  human  happiness  quite  distinctly.  It  was 
not  at  all  edifying  to  hear.  I  was  a  little  angry ;  and  beyond 
this  I  was  as  much  provoked  by  my  own  warmth  as  by  Stel- 
lan's  coolness,  and  more  than  all  by  Bear,  who,  during  all 
our  discourse,  never  spoke  a  word,  but  only  made  the  most 
horrible  faces  while  he  was  carving  his  chess-queen. 

The  conversation  was  interrupted  by  the  evening  meal, 
and  was  not  afterwards  renewed  ;  but  I  could  not  let  Bear 
go  to  rest  that  night  before  I  had  some  talk  with  him  on  the 
morals  of  his  golden-youth.  I  must  confess  that  neither 
was  I  much  more  contented  with  Bear,  at  least,  on  this  occa- 
sion. He  defended  Stellan  quite  too  well,  and  assured  me 
that  notwithstanding  his  Turkish  notions,  he  was  a  most 
upright  fellow,  and  never  would  be  guilty  of  anything  un- 
worthy. "His  only  error,"  said  he,  "is  a  little  levity  as 
regards  women ;  but  this,"  added  he,  "with  young  men,  is 
such  a  common  failing  that  one  must  not  judge  them  too 
harshly  on  that  account." 

"  Grood  Bear  !"  said  I ;  "  and  now  I'll  tell  you  what ; — if 
he,  while  you  are  away,  out  of  a  little  levity  endeavour  to  win 
my  heart,  I  shall  think  that  this  is  only  something  quite 
usual  in  a  young  man,  so  I  shall  not  be  very  severe  with  him." 

Bear  looked  so  much  astonished  and  confounded,  that  I 
laughed,  embraced  him,  and  set  him  right.  Bear  at  last 
came  over  to  my  opinion,  that  it  might  be  better  if  Stellan 
possessed  sounder  principles  ;  if  he  were  steady  and  well 
married.  His  mother  and  his  whole  family  greatly  wisFi  that 
he  should  marry,  but  he  himself  shows  not  the  least  inclina- 
tion to  do  so.  Bear  encouraged  me  to  talk  with  him  of  the 
happiness  of  marriage,  and  1  certainly  will  not  omit  to  do  so, 
nor  also  to  read  a  sort  of  catecliism  to  him ;  he  ia  not  Sultan 
yet,  and  must  hear  the  truth. 


YEAl^SISKA  WERNEE  TO  MAEIA  M.  Ill 

13th,  Evening. 

I  have,  my  dear  Maria,  certainlj  many  qualities  of  a  good 
preacher  ;  as  for  instance,  faith,  seriousness,  and  zeal ;  but, 
alas  !  not  the  power  of  convincing  my  auditor. 

Will  you  now,  good  Maria,  hear  my  sermon  and  its  con- 
sequences ?  I  sate  by  the  open  window,  my  heart  was  light, 
and  I  sang  in  emulation  of  the  birds  in  the  elder-bush. 
Stellan  came  in,  and  seating  himself  near  me,  began  pulling 
to  pieces  some  beautiful  monthly  roses  which  stood  in  a  glass 
on  the  table.  I  thought  the  opportunity  a  favourable  one, 
and  felt  myself  excited  in  spirit  to  commence  a  lecture. 

In  order  to  lead  the  conversation,  I  began,  perhaps  not 
very  discreetly,  to  reprove  him  for  destroying  the  flowers, 
which,  if  spared,  would  have  afforded  him  more  pleasure. 

"They  would  at  all  events  soon  wither,"  said  he,  still  pur- 
suing his  employment ;  "  and  it  is  exactly  their  perishable- 
ness  which  makes  them  beautiful  to  me.  I  know  no  flowers 
so  wearisome  as  everlastings." 

You  may  thus  easily  see  which  way  the  door  was  opened  ; 
I  rushed  in  hastily,  and  began  at  once  on  the  chapter  of 
marriage.  I  fell  at  once  upon  Stellan' s  favourite  idea,  and 
exalted  the  desirable  and  pure  joys  of  life  in  opposition  to 
fleeting  pleasures,  to  a  fluttering  butterfly -life.  I  painted  in 
warm  colours,  which  I  drew  from  my  own  heart,  the  beauty, 
the  unending  happiness,  which  developes  itself  in  a  well- 
assorted  marriage. 

Cousin  Stellan  answered  me,  at  first,  only  evasively, — 
sometimes  with  a  little  jest,  sometimes  with  politeness — as 
for  example,  "  If  all  ladies  were  like  Pransiska,  I  w^ould  be  a 
married  man  directly.    If  all  marriages  resembled  yours,"  etc. 

I  affected  to  hear  nothing  of  all  this ;  but  in  my  zeal  to 
get  him  married,  placed,  as  it  were,  in  array  before  him  one 
pretty  and  well-bred  girl  after  another.  But  Stellan  found 
faults  in  every  one.  This  had  large  feet ;  that  had  ugly 
teeth ;  the  third  dressed  ill ;  the  fourth  had  a  disagreeable 
voice.  At  last,  quite  provoked  by  all  these  objections,  I 
asked  him  whether  he  really,  after  all,  thought  himself  so 
over  and  above  magnificent ! 

"  God  forbid  1"  exclaimed  he,  with  an  agi^eeable  but  pecu- 
liar intonation  ;  but  I  saw  that  he  was  entirely  satisfied  with 
himself;  and  as  I  could  not  deny  but  that  he  was  uncom- 


142 


THE  NEianBOURS. 


monly  handsome  and  agreeable,  I  began  to  speak  of  the 
inward  man ;  reproved  him  for  bis  superfieialness  ;  said  that 
more  outward  attractions  were  nothing  but  dust,  and  exalted 
the  beauty  of  the  soul  as  most  important,  especially  in  several 
of  the  young  ladies,  whose  hands  and  feet  he  had  censured 
so.  In  connexion  herewith  I  said  the  most  beautiful  things 
on  the  subject  of  family  life,  which  I  praised  with  a  zeal  equal 
to  that  of  the  deceased  Miss  Konnquist.*  My  descriptions 
affected  me,  and  made  me  quite  warm  ;  but  Stellan  cooled 
me  down  by  an  affected  yawn,  and  by  quietly  humming  the 
melody  of"  Old  Noah/'f  This  made  me  quite  angry,  and  I 
told  him  that  he  was  a  heathen,  an  ourang-outang,  unworthy 
of  the  hand  of  a  noble  girl,  and  that  he  did  not  deserve  to 
partake  of  the  highest  and  purest  happiness  of  earth. 

All  at  once  Stellan  became  quite  grave,  and  said,  "  But  is 
that  happiness  of  wi4^cii^^ou  speak,  Eransiska,  really  attain- 
able ?  Is  it  ncjl'Tlike  the^^cenix,  only  a  beautiful  fable  on 
earth  ?  Can  you,  FSi^^siska,  you^^^  appear  so  certain  and 
so  much  at  home  on  thi^v^i^i^jg^,^  ^^e  to  me  among  all  the 
families  that  you  know,  on^^^j^o-Jg  onellii^^  really  happy, 
and  really  united,  and  which  ble^^g^g  ^N^tl^t  .Wvfs  tftim 
together,  not  merely  at  one  momeu.x  ^j^^^,  live^>J^^^  under 
all  the  changes  of  their  lifetime?  INam'e^^^  bu^Q^^  such 
family,  Eransiska  ?"  ^  / 

Stellan  looked  at  me  earnestly  and  keenly,        j  bega^ 
reflect  and  to  consider. 

Is  it  not  the  most  absurd  thing  in  the  world  that  often 
the  very  word,  the  very  thing  that  we  require,  escapes  from 
us  ?  It  was  exactly  so  with  me  and  the  happy  family.  I 
fancied  I  knew  many  such,  but  now  I  could  not  bethink 
myself  of  a  single  one.  I  sought  and  sought.  I  sprang 
into  this  house,  and  out  of  that  house,  among  all  my  ac- 
quamtance ;  I  grew  anxious  and  warm,  because  I  could  not 
find  that  for  which  I  sought.  With  a  secret  mischievous 
delight  Stellan  sate  there  and  looked  expectingly  at  me. 

In  order  to  save  myself  and  family  happiness,  I  thought  it 
best  to  object  to  his  extravagant  demands,  and  began  thus  : — 
"  Perfect  *  happiness  is  nowhere  found  on  earth — "  Stellan 

♦  A  character  in  "  The  President's  Daughters." 

+  Gubben  Noach,  a  popular  Swedish  song  by  the  favourite  poc^  )f  the  people 
Bellman. 


FRAIS'SISKA  WERNEE  TO  MARIA  M. 


143 


interrupted  me.  "  Tou  are  right,  Fransiska,  and  least  of  all 
is  it  to  be  found  in  family  life.  Tlie  ephemera  man  can  only 
enjoy  happiness,  or  bliss,  on  earth,  on  the  condition  tliat  he 
live  there  as  an  ephemera  ;  that,  like  a  butterfly,  he  rock 
himself  on  the  tree  twigs  ;  suck  the  honey  from  the  flowers ; 
and,  like  it  too,  do  not  fetter  himself  to  the  ground.  So 
soon  indeed  as  he  does  this,  he  is  the  prey  of  worms  and 
creeping  things.  Then,  all  that  is  dull  and  insipid  in  life 
comes  over  him,  the  wings  of  the  Psyche  fall  ofl* — the  butter- 
fly becomes  the  worm.  Believe  me,  Transiska,  I  have  seen 
more  of  life  than  you  ;  and  sadly  too  much  either  to  praise  it, 
or  to  wish  myself  to  play  the  part  of  a  '  pere  de  famille.' 
The  family  is  an  instrument  which  sooner  or  later  gets  out  of 
tune ;  this  is  in  the  nature  of  the  strings,  and  their  relation- 
ship to  each  other.  I  will  show  you  this  in  some  families 
with  whom  I  am  acquainted.  I  might  begin  with  my  own 
family,  since  I  also,  Fransiska,  have  had  parents  and  brothers 
and  sisters  ;  have  also  heard  quarrels,  have  quarrelled  myself ; 
have  been  envious,  and  have  bickered  with  my  own  flesh  and 
blood.  Bat  this  now  is  all  passed  ;  we  have  separated,  and 
in  consequence  have  diflerent  interests,  and  thereby — are 
become  good  friends. 

"  I  will  speak  of  the  A.'s.  They  had,  I  believe,  a  good 
income  till  the  children  grew  up ;  these  children  were  badly 
educated  ;  they  turned  out  ill,  and  now,  through  them,  the 
parents  have  sunk  into  poverty  and  care. 

"  The  B.'s  did  quite  diflerently.  They  were  stern  and 
despotic.  They  are  left  alone.  The  children  have  all  escaped 
from  home,  shunning  it  even  more  than  a  prison. 

"  The  C.'s  made  it  their  most  important  business  that  their 
children  should  be  well  educated.  They  had  them  instructed 
in  everything ;  gave  them  teachers  of  every  kind ;  spared  no 
cost ;  and  rejoiced  and  were  proud  for  a  while  of  the  progress 
their  children  made.  The  children  were  rich  in  knowledge 
and  talent,  and  despised — their  parents,  who,  in  comparison 
of  them,  were  ignorant.  Silently  grieve  the  parents  like 
shadows  over  their  brilliant  children. 

"  With  the  D.'s  it  appears  much  better.  They  have  no 
children  ;  they  are  rich.  They  give  now,  as  they  have  done 
for  thirty  years,  magnificent  suppers ;  but  if  you  saw  them 
near,  if  you  knew  the  emptiness^,  the  coldness  of  their  life— 


THE  NEIGHBOURS. 


ha !  The  eatables  on  their  table  are  the  only  things  that 
warm  and  unite  them. 

"  At  the  E.'s,  for  a  long  time  all  was  gay.  They  were 
joyous,  friendly,  hospitable.  Their  daughters  were  called 
the  three  Grraces.  They  made  parties  and  gave  entertain- 
ments. Tears  went  on.  The  three  Grraces  grew  old  in  the 
paternal  house  ;  they  withered  away  together.  The  world 
forgot  them.  They  remain  together  alone,  and  pout  through 
their  uneventful  life.  In  an  evening  they  sit  at  a  round 
table,  light  candles,  and  wait  for  company — ^which  never 
comes. 

"  I  will  not  speak  about  the  E.'s.  The  husband  has  one 
will,  the  wife  another ;  it  is  perpetual  storm  there.  The 
children  are  accustomed  to  say,  '  If  there  be  not  tempest  in 
the  north,  there  is  in  the  south — ^but  there  is  always  a  north 
wind.' 

"  '  If  one  only  knew  how  to  keep  things  smooth !'  said 
good  Madame  G-.,  as  she  wished  to  heal  a  breach  which  her 
violent  husband  had  occasioned  in  the  domestic  ,union.  Thus 
has  the  family  gone  on  smoothening,  and  has  by  degrees 
smoothened  itself  out  of  all  comfort  and  order :  they  keep  on 
smoothening  still,  and  manage  just  to  keep  together.  It  is 
a  family  in  a  state  of  perpetual  asthma  :  it  neither  lives  nor 
dies. 

"  My  mother  wished  that  I  should  take  a  wife  out  of  the 
H.  family.  I  went  there  one  evening — all  looked  charm- 
ingly ;  the  daughters  handsome  and  well-dressed.  All  per- 
fumed and  comfortable.  I  went  again  one  forenoon.  A  pair 
of — not  clean — stockings  lay  upon  a  chair  in  the  drawing- 
room,  and  an  infamous  smell  of  sour  paste  met  me  from 
somewhere.  I  went  into  another  room,  and  away  flew  the 
daughters — from  the  spinning-wheel.  Housewifery  is  an 
excellent  thing,  but  spinning  deranges  the  toilet — and  to 
smell  sour  paste  only  once  is  an  abomination.  Sour  paste 
and  domestic  happiness  do  not  at  all  accord  in  my  mind." 

"  But  that  is  childish!"  exclaimed  I,  "you  will  never 
be  able  to  live  on  the  earth  with  over-refinement  like  that  1" 

"  Yes,"  answered  he,  "  I  confess  that  this  may  seem  very 
trifling.  But  such  is  my  nature.  The  sour  paste  of  house- 
wifery deters  me  from  becoming  the  head  of  a  family." 

"My  friend  J.,"  continued  he*  "had  been  married  foul 


niANSISKA  WEBNER  TO  MAEIA  M. 


145 


years,  during  wliich  time  I  had  not  seen  him.  Not  long 
since  I  happened  to  be  in  the  country  where  he  resided,  and 
availed  myself  of  the  repeated  invitations  I  had  received  to 
visit  him  in  his  Idyllian  home.  In  the  first  room  I  found 
two  barefooted  servant-girls  scouring  the  floor  ;  in  the  second, 
I  nearly  fell  down,  having  entangled  my  foot  in  a  string 
which  fastened  a  spinning-wheel  to  the  leg  of  the  stove  ;  in 
the  third,  I  heard  children  crying  with  all  their  might.  I 
waited  several  minutes  that  the  crying  might  cease  ;  I  grew 
tired  of  this,  however,  and  so,  half-dead,  rushed,  with  a  leap 
over  the  scouring-tubs,  out  of  this  Idyllian  home." 

"  You  chose  your  visiting  time  very  badly,"  said  I,,  vexed  ; 
"  must  not  people  have  their  houses  scoured  ?  and  must  not 
little  children  cry  sometimes  ?  Ought  not  one  to  have 
patience  with  little  children  ?" 

"  That  I  believe,  Fransiska,"  returned  he  ;  "  but  exactly 
because  I  do  not  possess  this  beautiful  patience,  and  because 
I  do  not  think  these  family  scenes  are  to  be  coveted,  exactly 
on  that  account  I  am  not  suited  for  the  marriage  state.  But 
I  have  more  weighty  objections  than  these,  against  domestic 
life.  There  is  a  something  in  man,  which  tends  ever  to  repel. 
The  more  individuals  are  brought  into  close  and  enduring 
connexion,  the  more  this  stone  of  repulsion  is  felt,  the  more 
do  its  jagged  edges  and  angles  wound.  Outward  circum- 
stances assist  this  ;  one  person  crowds  another  so  easily,  one 
is  mutually  in  each  other's  way,  and  the  consideration  which 
one  person  has  and  must  have  for  another,  is  only  like  a 
leaden  weight  upon  his  freedom  and  his  enjoyment.  If  it  be 
commanded  that  we  live  one  for  another,  then,  properly 
speaking,  nobody  lives  happily  for  himself.  I  do  not  deny 
that  there  may  be  high  and  enduring  happiness  in  marriage 
and  in  domestic  life,  but  these  instances  are  the  few  excep- 
tions. They  are  the  echoes  which  sound  across  to  us  from  a 
lost  paradise :  and  as  I  am  speaking  on  this  subject,  what  do 
you  say  to  the  apple  which  presents  itself  in  the  history  of 
Adam  and  Eve  ?  It  has  descended  to  all  their  posterity,  and 
most  families  have  an  apple  to  bite,  which  occasions  discord 
and  want. 

"  Would  you  know,  Eransiska,  where  the  greatest  need, 
the  greatest  ennui,  the  greatest  envy,  the  greatest  bitterness, 
the  most  intrinsic  mutual  hate,  are ; — would  you  know  where 


14G 


THE  KETGIIBOtJES, 


the  most  tearful  eyes,  the  palest  cheeks,  the  most  joyless,  the 
most  wearied  hearts,  may  be  found  ?  I  will  show  you  them 
all  in  marriage,  in  the  domestic  circle — in  one  word,  in  family 
life!" 

I  cannot  tell  you  how  I  felt  after  these  descriptions  of 
Stellan's,  because  I  was  compelled  in  so  many  things  to 
acknowledge  truth ;  and  although  he  saw  all  in  a  one-sided 
point  of  view,  and  I  could  laugh  at  many  things,  as  for  instance 
at  the  sour  paste,  yet  many  others  gave  me  really  a  pang  at 
the  heart.  I  was  skocked  at  the  thought  that  there  was  so 
much  mental  poverty,  so  much  deep  misery  in  family  life. 
But  still  the  idea  of  family  life  was  one  which  I  loved;  one 
which  I  had  faith  in,  which  had  grown  up  with  all  that  was 
good  in  me.  All  this  now  seemed  profaned  by  Stellan.  I 
felt  vexed ;  I  felt  anxiety  and  pain, — and  a  thousand  mixed 
feelings  filled  my  eyes  with  tears,  whilst  I  exclaimed,  "  But  I 
am  happy  !  Bear  is  happy  ! — we  are  happy !" 

"  Yes !  now  in  the  honeymoon,  and  perhaps  yet  for  one, 
two,  or  three  years,"  said  the  ul  merciful  Stellan.  "  But  let 
years,  let  children,  let  cares  come— you  will  have,  for  instance, 
ten  girls — what  will  you  do  with  all  these  ?  No  money,  no 
marriage;  one  girl  lame,  one  diseased." 

"  Ten  girls!"  I  was  shocked.  I  saw  them  already  around 
me,  tall,  grown-up,  demanding  that  I  should  give  them  hap- 
piness as  I  had  given  them  life.  I  saw  one  of  them  sickly  ; 
one  diseased :  I  sank  down  under  this  burden,  which  was  too 
heavy  for  me ;  and  whilst  I  wept  without  being  able  to  say  a 
word,  up  rose  Stellan,  threw  away  my  last  monthly  rose,  and 
went  out.  The  abominable  wretch  !  I  almost  wished  never 
to  see  him  again ! 

"  Ten  girls  !"  'For  a  long  time  I  could  think  of  nothing 
but  these  words  and  weep.  By  degrees,  however,  I  en- 
deavoured to  calm  myself,  and  began  seriously,  and  as  a 
Christian,  to  reflect  on  the  aflair,  and  by  and  by  tliis  began 
to  assume  quite  an  altered  appearance.  I  was  no  longer 
shocked  at  my  ten  girls,  but  was  quite  consoled  by  them.  I 
would  devote  myself  altogetlier  to  them  :  I  would  make  of  them 
industrious,  God-fearing  human  beings.  They  should  become 
good  Mild  happy  ;  should  love  one  another ;  and,  sound  in  heart, 
sh(mld  be  able  to  face  the  world.  The  more  I  studied  my 
family  picture,  the  more  alluring  it  seemed.  I  began  regularlj 


FBANSISKA  WEENER  TO  MARIA  M. 


147 


to  love  my  ten  girls,  but  most  of  all  the  lame  and  the  afflicted 
one.  I  created  no  illusion ;  but  I  felt  in  my  strengthened 
heart  that  it  really  would  succeed,  and  that,  with  God's  and 
my  husband's  help,  I  would  make  the  ten  girls  fortunate. 
And  then  I  thought  how  rich  I  should  be  at  the  day  of  judg- 
ment, when  I  could  say,  "Here  I  am,  Eather,  with  the 
children  that  thou  hast  given  me." 

So  felt  .1,  so  thought  I,  and  I  was  calm  and  joyful  in 
spirit.  I  went  out  into  the  birch  grove  to  cool  my  red  eyes 
and  cheeks  ;  and  then  I  had  several  things  to  look  after  in  the 
kitchen  and  the  store-room,  and  thus,  what  with  one  thing 
and  what  with  another,  I  had  nearly  forgotten  my  ten  girls ! 
but  as  Bear  came  home,  some  way  or  other  all  the  depression, 
all  the  despondency  seemed  to  fall  upon  my  heart  again.  I 
became  again  as  weak  as  a  child.  When  my  husband  came 
up  and  kissed  me,  I  threw  my  arms  round  his  neck,  and  both 
laughed  and  cried  at  the  same  time. 

"  No  doubt,  Bear,"  said  I,  "  you  would  love  me  and  be 
satisfied  with  me,  and  we  should  be  happy  even  if  we  had 
ten  daughters  ;  and  you  would  love  them  all,  even  if  they 
were  lame  and  diseased." 

I  could  not  properly  finish  my  speech. — Good  Bear !  he 
made  such  a  horrible  face,  and  looked  just  as  if  all  the  ten 
daughters  were  hangiug  round  his  neck.  But  as  he  saw  me 
so  agitated,  he  gave  me  a  glass  of  water  and  begged  me  to 
speak  Swedish, — he  imagined,  probably,  that  the  "  ten 
daughters'^  was  Hebrew. 

I  explained  to  him  the  whole  affair  in  perspicuous  Swedish, 
and  then  he  laughed  loudly,  and  assured  me  that  he  should 
always  be  happy,  and  that  he  would  always  love  both  me  and 
the  children  I  should  give  him ! 

Stellan  came  in  at  the  same  moment.  He  appeared  em- 
barrassed and  distressed  to  see  me  so  much  excited,  but  in 
the  joy  of  my  heart  I  offered  him  my  hand  and  exclaimed, 
"  We  will  be  happy,  my  Bear  and  I ;  we  will  be  happy  even 
with  ten  daughters,  and  even  if  they,  every  one  of  them,  be 
sickly.  We  will  love  each  other,  and  love  them  also." 

Stellan  was  really  affected  ;  he  blushed,  kissed  my  hand, 
and  prayed  me  to  forgive  his  having  jested  so  rudely.  Bear 
was  kind  to  me  as  an  angel,  and  would  not  go  to  table  till  I 
was  altogether  calmer.    I  hastened  to  become  so,  but  stii] 

k2 


148 


THE  NEiaHBOTTRS. 


could  scarcely  swallow  a  morsel.  I  fancy  my  ten  dauglitero 
stuck  in  my  throat ;  beyond  this,  I  fancied  that  Bear  looked 
at  me  with  a  degree  of  consternation.  Ten  daughters ! 
That  really  is  too  many ! 

But  I  will  not  think  any  more  about  it.  "Whilst  Bear  and 
Stellan  take  a  walk,  and  the  evening  paints  the  scenes  ol 
nature  in  sepia  and  Indian  ink,  I  will  cast  another  glance  on 
Cousin  Stellan's  ornamental  pictures  of  family  life.  Are 
they  really  true  ?  In  many  indiyidual  cases,  ah  yes  !  but  in 
the  general,  no,  oh  no  !  And  even  were  there  in  earthly 
fam'lies  more  of  shadow  than  light,  thou  allwise  Artist,  who 
hast  painted  in  such  magnificent  light  the  great  picture  of 
life.  Thou  wouldst  teach  us  to  spread  out  the  colouring 
better  upon  our  small  canvas.  But  Thou  hast  already  taught 
us  ;  and  it  now  depends  upon  ourselves.  If  we  labour  with 
fervency  and  truth,  our  family  picture  will  be  beautiful,  and 
will  be  worthy  of  its  place  in  the  collection  of  the  Most 
Blessed. 

"  One  finds,"  says  Stellan,  "a  something  among  human 
beings  that  always  tends  to  thrust  them  asunder."  I  grant 
that ;  one  finds  envy,  pretension,  unreasonableness,  ennui, 
and  a  thousand  large  and  small  stones  of  repulsion,  which 
are  capable  of  occasioning  bitter  feeling.  I  grant  also  that 
they  are  felt  most  keenly  exactly  when  the  circle  is  most 
confined — in  family  life.  What  then  ?  Is  there  no  power, 
mild  yet  energetic,  whose  efficacy  consists  in  equalising  and 
sweetening  all,  and  changing  even  evil  into  good  ?  Who  will 
not  here  remember  the  doctrine  of  the  Apostle,  and  whom 
has  it  not  blessed  a  thousand  times  in  his  life — "  Love  is 
patient  and  mild,  etc.  ?" 

I  will  now  examine  a  few  of  Stellan's  family  scenes.  I 
will  leave  the  external  relationship  as  it  is,  but  will  conduct 
into  the  interior  bosom  of  these  families  the  angel-sisters, 
Truth  and  Love.  Then  behold  how  the  picture  will  be 
changed  !  See,  for  example,  the  family  with  the  talent-gifted 
children  and  the  uneducated  parents.  True  instruction,  true 
enlightenment,  would  have  ennobled  the  children.  It  never 
would  have  happened  then  that  they  would  lightly  have 
esteemed  good  and  upright  parents  because  they  were  better 
informed  than  they.  They  would  have  known  that  true 
human  worth  conaista  in  moral  Qualities  and  in  uprisht  con- 


TRANSISKA  WERNER  TO  MARIA  M. 


149 


iuct.  They  would  have  surrounded  the  parents  with  re- 
rerence  and  gratitude,  enlivened  their  home,  and  beautified 
their  days  with  their  talents. 

And  then  the  three  Graces  !  In  fact  a  melancholy  picture. 
I  must  yawn  when  I  think  of  it ;  but  it  is  not  the  family 
bond,  but  vanity,  highmindedness,  and  inward  emptiness, 
which  has  placed  them  in  this  puppet  condition. 

If  Stellan  tear  away  happiness  from  families,  I  would 
willingly  know  where  he  places  it.  I  will  ask  him  what  men, 
and  what  position  in  life,  he  regards  as  the  happiest  ? 
Perhaps  a  bachelor's  life  !  But  then  he  must  be  an  egotist, 
who  disowns  all  bonds  of  nature;  I  envy  no  one  such  a 
happiness.    But  I  will  ask  Stellan  if  he  himself  be  happy, 

13th, 

I  have  asked  Stellan.  At  first  he  would  only  give  an 
evasive  answer,  jested,  and  was  witty,  but  without  joyousness; 
but  as  I  questioned  him  still  more  earnestly,  and  besought 
him  to  speak  the  truth,  he  also  became  earnest,  and  said,  "  I 
am  not  happy !  Life  appears  to  me  poor,  and  I  often  feel 
an  almost  insupportable  emptiness  within  myself." 

"  Ah,  thank  Grod  !"  exclaimed  I,  quite  charmed  and  excited. 
He  looked  at  me  astonished ;  and  I  continued  :  "  Thus  you 
are  not  the  unworthy  egotist  that  you  must  have  been,  if  you 
could  have  been  happy  with  your  way  of  thinking.  You 
have  described  married  life  so  as  to  make  one  weep ;  but  I, 
Stellan,  could  describe  to  you  the  life  of  an  old  bachelor,  and 
you  would  find  it  so  miserable,  so  barren,  that  you  would  not 
give  a  pinch  of  snuff  for  it.  But  thus  it  need  not  be  with 
you,  Stellan ;  you  are  a  good  thinking  being ;  you  will  dis- 
cover the  true  worth  of  life,  and  will  renounce  all  extravagant 
pretensions  and  all  exaggerated  sensibilities ;  you  will  become 
happy  through  noble  employment,  through  an  amiable  wife, 
through  domestic  and  family  life." 

He  smiled  half  sorrowfully,  shook  his  head,  and  said  some- 
thing about  sour  paste. 

"  But  Cousin  Stellan,"  said  I,  "  in  our  house  also  domestic 
business  goes  forward ;  also  here  do  we  spin,  make  paste, 
and  scour.    Is  it  here,  then,  so  uncomfortable  ?" 

"  If  all  women  were  like  you,  Fransiska,"  returned  Stellan, 
took  my  hand,  kissed  it,  said  something  about  "  this  white; 


150 


THE  NEIGHEOrES. 


fine  hand,"  kissed  it  again  and  again,  became  crimson,  and 
cast  upon  me  an  extraordinary  glance.  I  also  became  crimson 
and  felt  I  know  not  how,  drew  my  hand  back,  began  to  talk 
of  the  weather,  and  then  went  directly  into  the  kitchen.  A 
stupid  scene  on  the  whole !  It  must  not  occur  again  unre- 
proved.    'No,  so  sure  as  my  Eear  lives  and  I  am  his  Eanny ! 

Think,  if  Ma  chere  mere's  lecture  should  actually  serve 
my  turn,  and  I  really  should  find  an  occasion  to  say — "  Sir, 
you  are  mistaken,"  etc.  But  in  no  case  should  I  go  directly 
to  my  husband  and  say — "  Dear  friend,  so  and  so  has  oc- 
curred." A  woman  who  loves  herself  and  her  duty  can  take 
care  of  herself.  One  does  not  need  therefore  to  gens-d'armise. 
But  perhaps  at  this  very  moment  I  am  doing  so,  when  I  am 
shocked  at  so  slight  an  affair. 

In  the  mean  time,  I  have  a  sort  of  satisfaction  in  knowing 
that  Stellan,  with  his  way  of  thinking  and  feeling,  is  not 
happy  ;  and  had  I  only  properly  reflected,  I  needed  not  to 
have  asked  the  question.  Stellan  with  all  his  gifts  is  an 
ennuye.  He  opens  a  book,  reads  a  little,  yawns,  and  throws 
it  again  aside.  He  takes  a  newspaper,  and  does  exactly  the 
same.  He  begins  a  drawing,  and  leaves  it  uncompleted.  He 
has  real  interest  and  pleasure  in  nothing.  He  is  willingly 
in  the  fresh  air,  loves  nature  and  flowers,  but  is  so  easily 
annoyed  with  the  least  thing.  It  is  now  too  warm,  now  too 
cold,  for  him  ;  sometimes  it  is  windy,  and  the  wind  is  to  him 
something  horrible.  Extraordinary!  this  man,  in  every-day 
life  so  aflected,  so  solicitous  of  his  own  convenience,  is  yet, 
as  I  have  heard  from  Bear,  as  determined  as  bold.  He  has 
good  intellect,  fine  knowledge,  and  might  perhaps  become  a 
distinguished  man,  if  he  would  only  give  himself  the  trouble 
to  study.  But  perhaps  he  smells  sour  paste  in  books.  And 
in  that  he  may  be  correct,  even  beyond  the  binding. 

.  14th. 

No  ;  I  was  not  wrong  to  gens^d'armise,  and  to  be  upon 
my  guard.  They  are  precisely  the  little  things  which  must 
put  people  on  their  guard  ;  for  the  proverb  is  true — A  great 
fire  often  arises  from  a  small  spark."  How  often  is  a  slur, 
deserved  or  undeserved,  cast  on  the  reputation  of  a  young 
woman,  merely  because  she  has  not  been  circumspect  in  little 
things. 


FEAXSISKA  WEEIS^ER  TO  MABIA  M. 


151 


"We  spent  yesterday  afternoon  on  Svano.  Consin  Stellan 
was  unusually  lively  and  polite.  On  our  return  home  he 
invited  Bear  and  me  to  a  game  at  ring-throwing.  I  accepted 
the  proposal  gladly  ;  and  soon  our  rings,  wreathed  with  their 
pink  ribbons,  were  flying  among  the  green  trees,  and  merrily 
and  dexterously  we  caught  them  again  on  our  sticks.  Bear 
threw  several  times,  but  soon  grew  weary,  panted,  sent  all 
pleasures  which  required  exertion  to  the  fiend,  and  so  went 
into  the  house.  I  confess  my  error,  Maria.  As  a  rational 
wife,  true  to  her  duty,  I  ought  to  have  followed  my  husband 
But  I  was  so  heartily  delighted  with  the  game,  and  had  not 
the  least  desire  to  leave  off.  So,  warm,  ardent,  and  almost 
wild,  Stellan  and  I  continued  to  throw  our  rings,  all  this 
while  getting  farther  and  farther  from  the  house.  At  length 
twilight  came  on,  so  that  we  could  not  distinctly  see  the 
course  of  the  rings,  and  Stellan' s  remained  hanging  behind 
me  in  a  birch-tree.  I  sprang  towards  it,  and  leaped  up  to 
reach  it,  when  I  suddenly  found  myself  embraced  by  Stellan, 
whilst  his  lips  whispered  close  to  my  curls,  "  Eanny,  dear 
Fanny  !"  I  w^as  excited  by  a  thousand  strange  feelings  ;  but 
in  a  moment  I  extricated  myself  and  said — odd  enough  —in 
Ma  chere  mere's  own  words,  "  Baron  S.,  you  mistake  your- 
self !  There — upon  the  tree,  hangs  your  ring!"  This  I 
spoke  with  so  much  emphasis  that  I  was  understood  imme- 
diately. 

"Aha!"  said  Stellan,  somewhat  confused  as  I  thought, 
while  he  reached  down  his  ring. 

"  It  gets  cool  now,"  continued  I,  "it  is  best  to  go  in 
and,  without  further  parley,  hastened  to  the  house.  Stellan 
slowly  followed,  humming  an  air  out  of  "  Era  Diavolo." 

It  was  not  till  half  an  hour  afterwards  that  he  came  in.  I 
was  sitting  beside  my  own  good  Bear,  and  telling  him  how 
dear  he  was  to  me,  which  communication  he  received  with  his 
good-tempered  Pacha-air,  as  Stellan  entered.  He  held  a 
beautiful  spray  of  wild  roses  in  his  hand,  which  he  presented 
to  me,  saying,  "  I  have  taken  away  all  the  thorns." 

"  Many  thanks,"  said  I,  took  the  spray,  and  stuck  it — in 
my  bosom  ?  'No,  Maria,  you  could  not  believe  that ;  I  stuck 
it  in  Bear's  button-hole !  Stellan  hummed  the  air  anew,  and 
shortly  after  we  separated  somewhat  coldly. 


152 


THE  NEIGHBOUES. 


Oh,  no,  my  Bear !  Tour  confidence  in  me  shall  not  hf^ 
abused !  I  will  not  in  the  least  deceive  it.  My  ten  daugh- 
ters shall,  at  the  least,  receive  from  their  mother  the  inhe- 
ritance of  an  unspotted  reputation  and  a  good  example. 

But  what  shall  I  now  do  ?  I  will  not  sit  here  at  home  the 
whole  day,  in  order  to  keep  company  with  Cousin  Stellan ; 
neither  can  I  leave  the  house,  because  Bear  has  so  expressly 
desired  me  to  remain  at  home  ;  much  less  will  I  go  to  him 
and  say — "  My  friend,  so-and-so,"  etc.,  because  this  would 
only  disturb  his  peace  and  the  relation  between  him  and  hia 
young  friend,  who  has  certainly  no  bad  intention,  but  is  only 
thoughtless.  I  know  now  what  I  shall  do.  This  morning  I 
have  household  occupation ;  in  the  afternoon  we  go  to  Carls- 
fors,  and  introduce  Stellan  to  Ma  chere  mere.  To-morrow 
Serena  comes  to  me  ;  and  then  I  will  move  heaven  and  earth 
but  she  shall  come  and  spend  from  eight  to  fourteen  days 
with  me  at  Eosenvik.  I  will  compel  Bear  to  tyrannise  over 
the  whole  Dahl  family.  It  will  do  Serena  good  and  me  also. 
It  will  be  charming  ! 

15th. 

It  is  vexatious  that  Cousin  Stellan  should  have  adopted  ex- 
actly Jane  Marie's  method  of  indicating  discontent.  There  is, 
it  is  true,  some  little  difference  in  the  way  and  means  ;  because 
Stellan  does  not  exactly  sulk,  but  he  feigns  an  indifference 
and  coldness  which  are  anything  but  agreeable.  He  would 
convince  me,  as  it  seems,  that  I  am  the  very  person  in  the 
world  about  whom  he  would  least  concern  himself.  I  try  to 
make  him  feel  that  I  do  not  notice  it.  But  it  always  grieves 
me  not  to  be  in  entire  friendliness  with  every  one  about  me. 
However,  I  am  now  cold  towards  Stellan,  lest  he  should 
imagine  that  I  want  to  decoy  him  back. 

"We  spent  yesterday  at  Carlsfors,  where  Ma  chere  mere 
received  Stellan  in  an  extraordinary  manner.  "  I  knew  your 
lather,  my  Baron,"  said  she ;  "  he  was  a  fine  man,  but  a  bon 
vivant.  I  have  heard  say  that  the  son  should  resemble  the 
father ;  and  though  we  ought  to  honour  the  tree  which  haa 
lent  us  its  shade,  yet  I  must  say  that  you  might  follow  a 
better  example.  Now,  now,  your  father  reformed  in  his 
latter  years  ;  and  I  hope  that  the  son  will  do  so,  and  think 
about  a  good  marriage  in  time.    In  doings  so  you  would  act 


TRANSISKA  WEEIS^ER  TO  MARIA  M. 


153 


prudently,  my  Baron ;  for  the  proverb  says — '  Early  wooing 
brings  no  man  rueing,'  and  '  Better  one  cake  with  peace  than 
two  with  strife.' 

Stellan  looked  quite  astonished  and  somewhat  irritated 
by  this  unexpected  lecture.  Ma  chere  mere  did  not  seem 
to  be  in  a  particularly  peaceful  humour,  and  when  we  looked 
round  us  we  found  the  whole  house  entangled  in  strife.  Ma 
chere  mere  and  Jean  Jacques  had  fallen  out  on  account  of 
the  new  arrangements  he  wished  to  introduce  on  the  estate, 
and  the  old  abuses  which  he  wished  to  reform.  The  strife 
between  the  old  and  the  new  had  broken  out  at  Carlsfors. 
But  Ma  chere  mere  held  the  reins  of  government  fast  in  her 
hand ;  and  Jean  Jacques,  compelled  to  yield,  found  with 
reason  his  situation  at  Carlsfors  highly  disagreeable.  Of  all 
these  things  he  complained  to  my  Bear.  Jane  Marie  was  in 
open  feud  with  Ebba,  and  related  to  me  in  a  bitter  tone  all 
the  injustice  which  she  had  to  bear,  which  all  consisted  in 
so  many  trifles  as  compelled  me  rather  to  laugh  than  to  cry 
over  them  :  for  it  is  quite  as  laughable  as  lamentable  when 
people  who  might  live  without  troubles,  embitter  each  other's 
existence  by  a  multitude  of  unnecessary,  self-created  entan- 
glements. I  endeavoured  cautiously  to  make  Jane  Marie 
aware  of  this,  but  some  way  it  was  unseasonable.  Jane 
Marie  grew  excited  to  think  that  any  one  considered  those 
things  trifles  which  so  nearly  concerned  her  dignity ;  and 
gave  me  to  understand  that  she  was  quite  capable  of  de- 
ciding what,  in  this  whole  afiair,  was  of  importance,  and  what 
was  not. 

I  had  quite  determined  not  again  to  let  it  be  grey  between 
myself  and  Jane  Marie  ;  and  more  than  this,  just  now  I  felt 
a  necessity  for  union ;  so  without  any  regard  to  her  digni- 
fied words  and  air,  I  merely  replied,  "  Yes,  certainly,  dear 
Jane  Marie,  your  education,  your  understanding,  place  you 
high  enough  over  Ebba  for  you  to  have  forbearance  with 
her  childish  folly,  without  abusing  your  goodness." 

"  You  do  not  knoAV  Ebba,"  replied  she,  somewhat  calmer  ; 
"  she  is  full  of  self-love,  pretension,  and  haughtiness.  She 
would  soon  set  me  down  if  I  did  not  carry  a  high  hand 
towards  her." 

There  was  a  time  when  I  believed  that  every  person 
possessed  in  himself  a  preponderating  fund  of  equity  and 


15^ 


THE  NEIGHBOURS. 


sound  reason  ;  when  I  believed  that  they  desired  nothing  so 
much  as  to  be  enlightened ;  that  if  they  only  heard  the  truth, 
they  must  acknowledge  it ;  and  that  when  they  had  acknow- 
ledged it  they  would  correct  their  faults,  and  in  consequence 
of  this  become  contented  and  happy.  At  that  time  I  spoke 
the  truth  to  many,  spared  good  counsel  to  none,  and  willingly 
became  the  peacemaker  in  quarrels ;  but  I  very  seldom 
found  that  I  was  thus  able  to  do  a  service  to  any  one,  least 
of  all  to  myself  And  to  be  truly  candid,  reciprocal  service 
of  this  kind,  which  some  of  my  good  friends  have  done  for 
me,  has  especially  tended  to  convince  me  that  the  too  candid 
method  in  such  cases  is  not  the  best  by  any  means.  In 
latter  years  I  have  been  remarkably  circumspect  in  speaking 
out  my  mind  to  people  ;  have  been  very  sparing  in  giving 
good  advice ;  and  have  had  a  salutary  fear  of  rushing  into 
quarrels  as  peacemaker,  or,  in  other  words,  "  sitting  between." 
But  if,  without  any  fault  of  my  own,  I  do  get  into  this 
melancholy  predicament,  I  then'  close  my  heart  with  a  sigh, 
endeavour  to  do  my  best,  and  make  use  of  the  experience 
which  I  have  gained  through  my  former  unfortunate  at- 
tempts. On  this  account,  I  did  not  now  say  to  Jane  Marie, 
My  good  Jane  Marie,  you  yourself  are  haughty,  and  full 
of  pretensions.  Precisely  your  o^vn  faults  is  it  which  call 
forth  those  of  Ebba.  If  you  were  more  reasonable  in  your 
behaviour,  she  would  be  less  overbearing  in  hers  !"  I  spoke 
out  none  of  these  thoughts  of  my  heart,  but  merely  sighed 
and  said,  "  The  poor  child!  she  has  certainly  had  a  faulty 
education.  Those  who  have  been  better  trained  must  excuse 
her.    A  defective  education  is  a  positive  misfortune." 

"Yes,  a  positive  misfortune,"  chimed  in  Jane  Marie,  as  it 
seemed  with  milder  feeliug  towards  Ebba. 

But  with  Ma  chere  mere  also  was  Jane  Marie  wholly  dis- 
satisfied. 

The  day  before.  Ma  chere  mere  had  the  horses  put  to  her 
carriage,  and  had  said  to  Jane  Marie  and  Ebba,  "  One  of  you 
can  accompany  me."  As  the  carriage  stood  before  the  door, 
and  Ma  chere  mfere  had  already  been  long  seated  in  it,  came 
at  the  same  moment  Jane  Marie  and  Ebba  with  the  inten- 
tion of  going  with  her.  There  was  room  but  for  one  of  them 
by  the  side  of  Ma  chfere  mere  ;  both  wished  for  the  drive.  As 
now  on  the  steps  of  the  carriage  a  very  violent  dispute  ar:)se 


TEANSISKA  WERKEE  TO  MAEIA  M. 


155 


between  the  sisters-in-law,  Ma  chere  mere  snddenlj  gave  tlia 
whip  to  her  horses,  and  drove  off  alone  in  the  heavenly- 
carriage,  to  the  great  displeasure  and  astonishment  of  the 
disputants. 

"Walking  in  the  park  by  Ebba's  side — for  Ebba,  since  her 
morning  promenade,  has  become  a  great  lover  of  the  country 
— I  heard  afterwards  all  her  complaints  against  Jane  Marie. 
Jane  Marie  had  such  unbearably  lofty  manners  towards 
Ebba  ;  Jane  Marie  had  called  her  a  little  fool ;  Jane  Marie 
would  alway  be  the  first,  would  always  go  first  through  a 
door ;  w^ould  always  be  first  served  at  table ;  Jane  Marie 
would  have  everything  better,  more  magnificent  than  Ebba ! 
called  Ebba's  dress  and  ornaments  common  and  of  simple 
taste  ;  always  saw  faults  in  her,  and  in  all  that  she  possessed, 
whilst  she  exalted  her  own  possessions,  and  instanced  them 
as  distinguished  and  excellent.  Poor  Ebba  bewailed  over 
this.    Also  I  bewailed  it,  only  in  another  manner. 

AYe  were  standing  now  on  the  edge  of  a  flowing  water, 
whose  shore  was  richly  adorned  with  leaves  and  flowers.  All 
around  us  was  beautiful,  fresh,  still.  My  very  heart  was 
warmed  by  it,  and  I  felt  that  I  could  speak  to  Ebba  in  quite 
another  way  than  to  Jane  Marie.  I  threw  my  arm  therefore 
suddenly  round  her,  and  said,  "  Dear  Ebba,  would  you  be 
happy  ?'* 

"  Yes,  certainly,"  answered  she,  looking  at  me  amazed. 
Ah,  my  beloved  Ebba,"  continued  I,  warmly,  then  rivet 
not  yourself  to  such  trifles,  and  do  not  let  them  annoy  you. 
See  how^  glorious  and  beautiful  it  is  here  all  around  you  1  and 
you  have  not  rejoiced  in  these  things,  have  scarcely  observed 
them,  because  Jane  Marie  has  carried  herself  more  loftily, 
and  has  more  costly  things  than  you!  My  dear  Ebba,  is  it 
not  lamentable  that  we  should  spoil  all  the  good  and  beauti- 
ful w^hich  life  offers  us  through  things  like  these  ?" 

To  repeat  all  that  I  said  in  my  geal  would  be  to  go  too  far ; 
it  is  enough  that  I  found  a  w^illing  ear  in  Ebba,  and  that  I 
described  to  her  the  folly  of  such  contentions,  and  the  pang 
of  bitterness  which  they  produce,  so  that  Ebba  both  laughed 
and  cried  over  it.  She  promised  on  my  behalf  to  concede  in 
peace  all  that  precedence  to  Jai^e  Marie  after  which  shi 
strove, 

lu  the  mean  time,  Bear  on  his  aide  had  to  "  sit  bet^reeu 


156 


THE  NEIGHBOURS. 


Ma  chere  mere  and  Jean  Jacques  :  he  had  through  his  in- 
fluence arranged  it  so  that  Jean  Jacques  promised  for  the 
future  to  be  less  precipitate  in  overwhehning  Ma  chere  mere 
with  liis  new  reformed  systems,  and  she  had  conceded  that 
she  would  take  Jean  Jacques's  propositions  into  consideration. 

And  during  all  this  time  what  did  Cousin  Stellan  do  ?  He 
busied  himself  with  those  who  were  at  peace  ;  made  himself 
agreeable  to  all  the  ladies,  one  after  another,  excepting  to 
me,  and  succeeded  perfectly  in  pleasing  all  right  well,  not 
even  excepting  Ma  chere  mere,  who  asserted  to  me, 
"Heavens!  he  is  truly  polite,  the  Baron  S.  He  did  justice 
to  his  dinner.    He  is  a  sensible  young  man !" 

I  rejoiced  during  the  evening  over  Ebba,  for  she  kept  her 
promise  excellently,  and  instead  of  making  Jane  Marie's 
beloved  privilege  a  cause  of  strife,  she  prevented  it  several 
times.  Jane  Marie,  at  first,  looked  as  if  some  stratagem  of 
war  must  be  concealed  under  this  behaviour,  but  at  last,  con- 
vinced of  the  friendly  sincerity  of  Ebba,  she  also  became 
quite  changed,  and  descended  from  her  "high  horses." 

We  foolish  human  beings  !  How  we  torment  ourselves 
and  others !  and  yet  could  often  so  easily  change  that  picture 
of  discontent  and  disquiet  into  a  picture  of  peace  and  rest ! 

When  Bear  and  I  were  again  at  home,  we  detailed 
mutually  our  commissions,  and  how  we  both  had  been  called 
upon  to  "  sit  between,"  and  we  felt  with  joy  that  never,  in 
this  sense  of  the  word,  should  it  be  necessary  for  any  one  to 
come  and  to  "  sit  between  us." 

I  have  at  this  moment  received  the  news  of  aunt  XJlla's 
death.  My  good  Maria !  I  cannot  say  otherwise  than  "  it  is 
good  !"  especially  since  I  hear  how  happily  she  died.  Aunt 
Sophie,  who  writes  me  this  news,  adds,  "  Anne  Maria  can  now 
remove  into  her  chamber,  which  is  so  much  more  cheerful 
and  convenient  than  the  one  she  has  been  obliged  to  put  up 
with." 

There  are  people,  harmless,  peaceable  people,  whose  de- 
parture is  good,  more  particularly  because  they  make  room. 
This  thought  saddens  me !  Oh,  if  I  should  ever  come  to  be 
in  the  way  of  my  neighbours  ;  if  any  one  amongst  them 
should  ever  long  for  my  place, — then  will  I  forth — forth! 

Here  am  I  now,  sitting  and  weeping  over  this  fancy,  aiLd 
over  the  thought  of  my  ten  daughters. 


FBANSISKA  WEENEB  TO  MAEIA  M. 


157 


CHAPTEE  VII. 

Roseiivik,  July  18th. 

Testeedat,  Serena  and  I  began  our  singing-lessons.  At 
ten  o'clock  in  the  forenoon  a  pretty  little  horse,  bearing  a 
light  graceful  burden,  came  cantering  up  to  my  door.  A 
heavy  calesche,  antique  as  its  possessors,  rolled  up  after  the 
Amazon  with  the  Patriarchs.  I  was  glad  to  see  that  venerable 
pair  under  my  roof,  and  delighted  to  receive  and  to  keep 
Serena,  who  seemed  animated  by  the  ride  and  the  beauty  of 
the  morning,  and  already  to  breathe  a  fresh  life. 

I  had  a  little  breakfast  in  readiness,  and  my  eggs,  my 
fresh  butter  and  foaming  chocolate,  were  praised  no  little. 
After  the  good  old  people  had  breakfasted  and  taken  a  view 
of  Eosenvik,  they  returned,  and  I  kept  Serena  with  me  for 
the  day.  I  was  imperative  that  she  should  not  be  fetched 
till  nine  in  the  evening,  and  this  was  promised  me.  The  good 
old  people  tenderly  embraced  their  favourite,  who  accom- 
panied them  to  their  carriage  with  a  thousand  graceful  atten- 
tions. 

After  this  we  had  a  singing-lesson.  Serena's  voice  is 
weak,  but  a  fine  counter-tenor.  Our  practice  was  principally 
of  the  voice  and  the  reading  the  notes,  for  her  expression 
and  execution  are  truly  excellent.  This  her  own  soul,  her 
own  taste,  has  taught  her  better  than  any  master  could  have 
been  able  to  do. 

It  grieved  me  to  call  Serena  Miss.  She  belongs  to  that 
class  of  beings  with  whom  I  seem  driven  by  an  irresistible 
impulse  to  use  the  pleasing  monosyllable  thou.  I  asked  to 
be  permitted  to  do  so ;  and  asked  further,  that  she  would 
call  me  aunt,  as  my  seniority  appeared  to  demand  some  mark 
of  respect,  although  this  title  is  the  most  wearisome  which  I 
know.  Serena  laughed  and  refused  to  honour  me  on  account 
of  my  years,  and  prayed  me,  if  there  were  no  other  impedi- 
ment, to  be  permitted  to  say  thou  also  to  me.  I  gladly 
assented  ;  and  found,  to  my  astonishment,  that  I  was  only 
four  years  older  than  Serena.  Serena  is  three-and-twenty , 
but  the  beauty  of  her  complexion  and  figure  would  not  lead 
one  to  suppose  so. 

After  we  had  arrajmed  these  affairs — lauah  not ;  that  thou 


158 


THE  NEIGHBOITRS. 


and  tJiou  is  in  Sweden  an  important  moment  in  an  acquaint* 
ance;  a  great  step  forward,  sometimes  also  backward — we 
took  our  work,  went  out  and  seated  ourselves  upon  a  bench 
in  the  shade  of  the  lime  and  lilac  hedge.  Serena,  whose 
fingers  have  an  extraordinary  skill  in  many  delicate  works, 
had  plucked  some  flowers,  and  now  set  herself  to  imitate 
with  great  accuracy  their  seed-vessels  and  other  minute 
parts. 

Cousin  Stellan  had  gone  early  in  the  morning  out  on  a 
shooting  excursion  with  the  brothers  Stalmark.  I  was  glad 
to  be  alone  with  Serena.  I  was  curious  to  hear  her  speak  of 
Bruno,  and  soon  turned  the  conversation  upon  him. 

At  the  mention  of  his  name  she  sighed ;  and  when  I  ques- 
tioned if  she  thought  he  had  a  bad  heart,  she  replied  warmly, 
"  No,  certainly  not !  His  heart,  indeed,  must  have  been  good 
and  tender,  how  otherwise  would  he  have  been  so  kind  to* 
w^ards  me,  who  was  only  a  weak  and  sickly  child,  and  must 
have  been  burdensome  to  others.  Is  not  that  Ramm  on  the 
other  side  the  lake  ?  I  remember  yet  so  well,  how  Bruno 
led  me  about  in  the  woods  or  drew  me  in  my  little  carriage. 
The  first  impressions  which  I  received  of  the  beauty  of  life 
and  of  nature,  were  from  this  time.  I  yet  remember,  how 
the  murmuring  in  the  wood  delighted  me ;  and  how  I  was 
enchanted  with  the  flowers  which  he  gathered  for  me.  If  he 
sang  I  sang  too,  and  when  he  bore  me  in  his  arms,  and 
sprang  over  the  mountain  ravines,  I  felt  no  fear,  but  only  a 
little  shudder,  which  was  more  akin  to  pleasure  than  to  pain. 
He  was  never  impatient  or  unfriendly  towards  me,  and  I 
shall  never  forget  how  once,  as  he  was  about  to  beat  one  of 
his  brothers,  he  desisted  when  I  wept  and  called  him  by  his 
name.  Why  should  he  have  been  so  gentle  towards  me,  if 
his  heart  had  not  been  good  and  amiable  ?  Once  also  he 
saved  my  life  not  without  peril  of  his  ow^n.  It  was  in  the 
park  at  Eamm.  Starlings  had  built  in  an  oalt-tree,  and  in 
childish  folly  I  desired  to  possess  the  eggs.  Bruno  seated 
me  in  the  grass  and  climbed  into  the  tree,  from  the  topmast 
boughs  of  which,  however,  he  precipitated  himself  on  hearing 
jie  utter  a  cry  for  help,  and  with  a  shriek  of  horror  snatched 
from  my  neck  a  snake  which  had  wreathed  itself  there.  I 
Saw  him  strangle  the  snake  and  tread  upon  its  head.  Then 
taking  me  in  his  armSj  I  remember  yet  that  he  wept,  whilst 


TEAFSISKA  WEENER  TO  MARIA  M. 


.159 


I  tried  to  pacify  him  with  my  childish  caresses !  Ah !  depend 
upon  it  that  he  was  not  wisely  treated.  They  certainly  had 
not  sufficient  regard  to  his  ability  of  loving.  Had  they,  he 
would  have  caused  his  mother  no  anxiety,  and  would  not 
have  fled  from  his  home  and  his  fatherland  !" 

"  Do  you  yet  remember  his  appearance  ?"  I  inquired. 

"  Not  clearly ;  it  seems  to  me  as  if  I  saw,  through  a  mist, 
a  handsome,  rosy-cheeked  boy,  with  large  beautiful  eyes. 
But  if  I  try  to  make  the  image  more  distinct,  it  fades." 

"  And  what  do  you  suppose  occasioned  his  flight  from 
home?"  I  inquired. 

"  I  have  been  told,"  said  Serena,  "that  dissension  with 
his  mother,  and  severe  treatment  on  her  side,  occasioned  it. 
There  was  great  similarity  in  their  tempers.  They  opposed 
obstiuacy  to  obstinacy — force  to  force.  Bruno  must  have 
died  in  his  exile.  Poor  Bruno !  I  have  truly  lamented  his 
fate.  He  was  so  good  to  me!"  Serena  sighed  with  a 
mournful  expression  of  countenance  ;  and  I  also  was  pene- 
trated by  a  sentiment  of  deep  sadness. 

I  changed  the  conversation  to  other  persons.  I  spoke  of 
Serena's  grandparents,  and  as  I  praised  them  she  became 
cheerful  and  joyous.  The  sentiment  of  gratitude  seemed 
especially  to  prevail  in  her  heart  to  an  uncommon  degree. 
It  seems  as  if  of  all  recollections  she  preserves  only  those 
which  incite  to  love.  If  she  spoke  of  a  book  also,  it  waa 
with  an  acknowledgment  of  the  good  she  had  derived  from  it. 
And  then  how  natural  and  graceful  is  every  word,  in  short 
her  whole  being !  I  loved  her ;  she  did  me  good.  I  wished 
that  I  also  could  be  inscribed  on  a  leaf  of  her  remembrance- 
book. 

At  dinner  we  had — Bear — good  humour,  good  appetite, 
and — without  boasting — good  eating.  In  the  afternoon 
Cousin  Stellan  came  back  in  the  condition  which  I  generally 
expect  after  a  shooting  excursion,  namely,  savagely  hungry 
and  without  game. 

"When  we  had  sate  and  talked  pleasantly  for  an  hour  after 
coffee,  we  determined  to  make  an  excursion  to  Svano,  there 
to  eat  our  evening  meal.  Serena  and  I  cut  bread  and  butter ; 
filled  some  bottles  with  cold  punch,  arid  laid  these,  together 
with  a  piece  of  cold  roast  meat,  in  a  basket ;  and  with  thig 
our  cheerful  little  company  wandered  down  to  the  shore, 


160 


THE  NEIGHBOURS. 


where  a  prettily  painted  green  boat  received  us.  Stellan 
rowed.  A  light  wind  cooled  us  and  curled  the  water.  Serena 
and  I  sang  "  La  Biondina."  Thus  reached  we  the  appointed 
place.  We  threw  ourselves  down  on  a  grassy  mound,  in  the 
red  and  white  clover,  under  the  great  oak-tree,  I  between 
my  husband  and  the  basket  of  provisions  ;  Stellan  by  Serena ; 
and  as  I  saw  them  sitting  there  in  the  green  grass,  so  lovely 
and  so  cheerful,  weaving  flower  garlands  for  each  other,  the 
transient,  perhaps  sinful,  thought  rose  in  my  heart  of  a  pos- 
sible union  between  those  two. 

Bear,  lying  on  the  fresh  odorous  turf,  smoked  his  pipe,  and 
slowly  puffed  out  the  volumes  of  smoke  towards  the  blue 
heaven,  whilst  he  listened  to  Grod  knows  what  foolish  non- 
sense about  the  great  Mogul  which  his  wife  told  him. 

Anon,  the  air  seemed  suddenly  tremulous,  and  a  rush  as  of 
a  far-off  tempest  of  melody  reached  our  ears.  This  tone — 
solenm,  gloomy,  but  beautiful — made  an  extraordinary  im- 
pression upon  us.  We  were  all  still  and  listened.  For  a 
moment  all  was  hushed,  a  breeze  passed  by  again,  and  upon 
this  breeze  came  again  a  tremulous,  mournful,  but  inex- 
pressibly harmonious  tone,  which  oppressed  me  to  the 
lieart. 

It  is  the  organ  at  E/amm!"  I  exclaimed;  "the  wind 
bears  the  sound  to  us.  O  that  we  could  hear  it  nearer! 
Hush!  hush  !  it  comes  nearer." 

AVe  listened.  The  melodious  panting  sound  came  again 
and  again,  with  every  flying  wind  that  came  towards  us  from 
Eamm.  But  we  could  not  connect  together  a  whole ;  the 
trembling  tones  mounted  and  died  away  like  the  sighings  of 
a  sorrowful  spirit,  and  as  I  listened  to  them  I  felt  as  many  an 
inquirer  of  the  old  times  must  have  felt  when  he  pondered  on 
the  broken  and  incomprehensible  melodies  of  Being,  and 
believed  that  the  wind  of  Fate  played  upon  the  strings  of  the 
Eolian  harp  of  life.  A  longing  took  possession  of  me,  an 
agony,  which  those  only  can  understand  who  experience, 
like  me,  a  passion  for  music  and  for  coherence. 

"I  must  hear  this  nearer!"  exclaimed  I  with  decision. 
"  Serena,  we  two  will  row  towards  Tiamm,  and  obtain  a  clear 
idea  of  this  music.  I  shall  become  mad  if  I  hear  these  tonea 
without  their  intelligence.  Remain  lying  there,  dear  Bear, 
and  smoke  your  dwq  in  peace.    I  pray  let  us  go.  Bemai"'" 


FEANSISKA  WERNEfl  TO  MARIA  AT. 


161 


you  there,  Cousin  Stellan;  we  wish  to  be  alone,  Serena  and 
I.    We  shall  soon  be  back  again." 

The  gentlemen  looked  dissatisfied ;  Bear  continued  to  lie 
on  the  grass,  and  grumble ;  Stellan  accompanied  us  to  the 
boat ;  Serena  and  I  set  off  quite  joyous  and  ardent.  I  rowed 
the  little  boat  easily.  The  little  voyage  was  enchanting  to 
me,  for  the  nearer  we  approached  the  more  significant  be- 
came the  music.  To  me  it  seemed  as  if  the  boat  sped  of 
itself,  as  if  invisible  powers  drew  us  onwards  tov/ards  that 
wonderful  music.  The  evening  was  calm ;  the  sunbeams 
tfrembled  into  ever  darker  gold  through  the  wood;  higher 
ever  rose  the  melodious  tempest.  We  two,  Serena  and  I, 
experienced  an  elevated  delight,  although  in  a  difierent 
manner.  My  heart  beat  violently,  and  tears  of  rapture  filled 
my  eyes.  Serena  was  calmer ;  her  white  hand  played  with 
the  waves,  and  her  clear  beautiful  eyes  looked  around  with 
quiet  childlike  goodness,  yet  with  an  expression  of  pure 
delight. 

Both  of  us  remained  silent ;  but  eager  to  hear  more  dis- 
tinctly that  captivating  music,  we  approached  nearer  and 
nearer  to  Bamm.  What  shall  I  say  to  you  ?  Mrs.  Curiosity 
had  such  a  power  in  the  boat  and  over  me,  that  in  vain 
raised  itself  the  warning  voice  of  Serena,  and  ever  nearer  and 
nearer  floated  the  boat  to  the  dark  walls  of  Bamm,  and  at 
last  lay  still  as  a  smuggler' s-craft,  in  the  shadow  of  the  alder- 
bushes  close  under  an  open  window. 

Here  heard  we,  in  tones  that  seemed  to  come  from  no 
human  hand,  the  favourite  melody  of  the  Neck's^  dance,  an 
interweaving  of  rich  melodies  which  for  beauty  and  power 
surpassed  all  that  I  had  ever  heard  or  imagined  before.  They 
were  the  evident  children  of  a  mighty  inspiration.  Enrap- 
tured, and  carried  away  as  it  were,  I  bowed  my  head  in  my 
hand,  and  dreamed  that  the  king  of  the  sea,  inspired  by  the 
beauty  of  the  evening  and  of  nature,  made  known  to  us  him- 
self, his  wonderful  life ;  that  life  which  he  leads  in  the  mys- 
terious depths,  and  in  the  crystal  castles  of  the  ocean.  But 
all  at  once  the  tones  ceased,  and  I  woke  out  of  my  dream  to 
a  consciousness  of  the  present.  I  seized  the  oar  involuntarily, 
and  with  one  little  stroke  turned  the  boat  away  from  Ihe 


•  A  water-spirit. 
L 


162 


THE  JfEIGHBOrRS. 


shore,  and  as  involuntarily  both  Serena  and  I  turned  our 
eyes  to  the  open  window  above,  but  turned  them  hastily 
away  again,  for  there  stood  the  dark  Eomilly,  in  his  own 
gloomy  person,  with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  us.  We  blushed, 
took  each  an  oar,  and  returned  in  much  shorter  time,  I  fancy, 
than  we  went,  although  our  oars  had  now  to  keep  time 
without  the  accompaniment  of  the  music.  This  had  entirely 
ceased. 

In  the  meanwHle,  as  we  had  been  absent  nearly  two 
hours.  Cousin  Stellan  seemed  to  be  quite  sleepy.  Bear  not 
quite  as  good-tempered  as  we  had  left  him,  which  did  not 
astonish  me ;  but,  however,  he  was  soon  perfectly  right  again 
on.  my  heartily  praying  for  forgiveness.  I  feel  at  times  a 
certain  degree  of  pleasure  in  sinning,  and  then  in  obtaining 
dispensation  by  caresses. 

We  ate  our  evening  meal  in  quiet  and  cheerfulness  ;  but 
Serena,  who  began  to  think  of  her  old  relatives,  and  expected 
to  be  sent  for,  often  turned  her  eyes  towards  Eosenvik. 

The  carriage  arrived  almost  at  the  moment  when  our  boat 
reached  the  shore,  and  Serena  left  us  after  we  had  agreed  that 
the  next  singing-lesson  should  be  on  Friday.  Cousin  Stellan 
attended  her  to  the  carriage,  and  showed  her  many  polite 
attentions.  It  is  remarkable  how  becoming  all  such  are  to 
a  young  man. 

"  Come  right  soon  again,"  cried  I  after  Serena ;  and  her 
friendly  blue  eyes  smiling  an  assent  from  under  her  little 
straw  hat,  she  waved  an  adieu  with  her  hand,  and  vanished 
between  the  green  trees. 

"That  was  a  charming  girl,"  said  Stellan,  who  waited  for 
me  in  tlie  porch,  "  only  it  is  a  pity  she  is  rather  lame." 

"  To  you,  Cousin  Stellan,"  said  I  smiling,  "  everything  in 
this  world  limps." 

"But  I  must  confess,"  returned  he,  "that  I  have  hardly 
ever  seen  a  less  fault  in  a  lady." 

"  I  agree  with  you,  Cousin,"  returned  I ;  "  and  I  can  even 
believe  it  possible  that  under  certain  circumstances  such  a 
fault  as  this  may  be  seen  only  as  real  beauty." 

He  smiled  and  made  a  motion  with  the  head,  as  though  he 
might  think  so  too.  I  was  about  to  enter  when  Stellan 
stopped  me,  and  with  a  deep  earnestness  in  his  voice,  said, 
"for  the  last  few  days,  Transiska,  you  have  not  been  so 


PBAKSISKA  WEENEE  TO  MAEIA  M. 


1G3 


friendly  towards  me  as  you  were.  Have  I  grieved  you  in 
anyway?" 

"Yes,"  answered  I  frankly,  "by  very  nearly  eonvinciug 
me  that  you  cared  nothing  for  my  esteem,  and  that  grieved 
me." 

"  Forgive  me,"  said  Stellan  kindly,  but  gravely,  "  and 
think  yet  well  of  me.  I  could  not  willingly  live  without 
your  esteem,  Fransiska.  Grive  me  your  hand  upon  it,  that 
you  believe  me  and  forgive  me." 

"  There,"  said  I,  giving  him  my  hand  joyfully,  but  taking 
care  that  he  did  not  kiss  it ;  and  went  in  to  my  Bear,  satisfied 
to  have  Stellan' s  esteem  instead  of  his  courtesy,  and  some- 
what satisfied  also  with  myself. 

To-morrow  Ma  chere  mere  has  a  great  dinner-party.  The 
whole  neighbourhood  will  be  assembled  at  Carlsfors.  Mr.  de 
Bomilly  also  has  been  invited,  although  he  had  paid  no  visit 
there.  I  am  very  curious  to  see  again  this  enigmatical 
person.  His  music  has  prepossessed  me  in  his  favour.  He 
who  can  awaken  such  melodies  must  possess  deep  and  strong 
sentiment. 

18th. 

1  was  disappointed  in  my  hope  of  being  able  to  observe 
more  closely  the  gloomy  neighbour  at  Eamm.  He  came,  it 
is  true,  to  Carlsfors,  and  his  entrance  made  a  great  sensation. 
For  myself,  an  unpleasant  feeling  passed  through  me  as  I 
glanced  at  the  lofty  black-apparelled  figure,  which  in  entering 
drew  together  the  fierce  eyebrows  with  an  almost  threatening 
expression. 

Ma  chere  mere,  who  was  en  grande  toilette^  and  really 
looked  very  well,  approached  him  majestically,  and  made  an 
oration  to  him  in  French,  which  was  equally  polite  and 
stately ;  but  which,  however,  the  stranger  seemed  to  under- 
stand no  more  than  if  it  had  been  Laplandish.  He  stood 
immoveable,  with  downcast  eyes ;  and  when  Ma  chere  mere 
had  ended,  returned  in  a  low  voice,  a  few  words  which  were 
inaudible  to  me ;  bowed  very  low,  and  left  her.  I  fancy  Ma 
chere  mere  was  but  little  edified  by  the  foreign  politeness 
which  she  had  praised  so  much  before  ;  and,  as  if  she  had 
been  infected  by  De  Eomilly's  mood,  she  too  contracted  her 
eyebrows,  and  returned  to  her  seat. 

The  next  moment  an  extraordinary  commotion  took  ^)lac6 
l2 


164 


THE  NEIGHBOIJBS. 


at  the  end  of  the  room.  The  gentlemen  rushed  together 
and  as  the  group  opened  itself  again,  De  Eomilly  was  seen 
pale  as  death  and  almost  insensible,  supported  by  two  persons, 
and  about  to  leave  the  room.  Bear  attended  him  out,  and  Ma 
chere  mere  ordered  whatever  the  house  contained  to  be  at  his 
service.  After  a  few  minutes,  taking  me  with  her,  she  went 
out  to  him  herself. 

Mr.  de  Eomilly,  who  sate  in  a  corner  of  the  sofa,  seemed 
then  to  have  recovered  himself,  but  his  face  was  concealed  by 
his  pocket  handkerchief.  Upon  Ma  chere  mere  questioning 
him  most  kindly,  he  replied,  in  a  hollow  voice,  complained  of 
violent  headache,  that  he  found  himself  compelled  to  leave 
the  house,  since  his  indisposition  would  render  him  totally 
unfit  for  company.  Ma  chere  mere  said  everything  which  a 
polite  hostess  could  say  on  such  an  occasion.  The  stranger 
only  bowed  his  head  in  silent  acknowledgment ;  and  we  left 
him,  after  Ma  chere  mere  had  recommended  him  to  Bear's 
care  ;  soon  after  we  heard  him  drive  off. 

Now  for  a  few  words  on  the  pleasures  of  the  day. 

I  will  commence  by  passing  over  the  dinner,  which,  like  all 
other  great  dinners,  was  rather  heavy.  Ma  chere  mere  was 
not  in  one  of  her  most  brilliant  humours,  which  affected  us 
all.    Therefore  to  the  afternoon. 

Mrs.  von  P.  had,  at  her  entrance,  given  me  only  a  gracious 
little  nod  of  the  head,  and  after  this  she  concerned  herself  no 
farther  with  me.  On  the  contrary,  she  was  very  friendly 
with  Jane  Marie. 

Jane  Marie  played  her  heavy  piece  from  Herz.  It  is  her 
"  cheval  de  bataille,"  and  that  it  is  warlike  one  must  acknow- 
ledge, as  well  as  that  it  was  performed  excellently.  The 
moment  it  was  finished,  Mrs.  von  P.  hastened  to  her,  and 
exclaimed  "  Charmant !  charmant !  None  but  our  modern 
composers  can  write  thus.  What  effect !  what  colouring ! 
Oh !  Weber  is  whimsical,  Eossini  often  poor  in  melody,  but 
Meyerbeer  excels  both;  he  is,  as  one  may  say,  '  le  prince  de 
la  musique.'  " 

The  piece  which  I  have  just  played  was  from  Herz," 
returned  Jaue  Marie,  somewhat  drily. 

"Yes,  he  is  excellent!  excellent!"  repeated  Mrs.  von  P. 
"  My  dear  Baroness,  art  it  is  alone  which  exalts  men  above 
brutes.    Education  is  the  truest  aristocracy,  which  equalizes 


rSANSISKA  WEBNEE  TO  MABIA  St. 


165 


all  differences  in  rank  and  wealth  among  men.  We  live, 
truly,  in  an  enlightened  age." 

The  Misses  Adele  and  Julia  had  hastened  up  to  Serena, 
and  with  affected  sprightliness,  and  in  fine  ornamental  voices 
were  saying,  "Ah!  how  pleasant  it  is  to  see  you,  little 
Serena !  How  are  you  now,  little  Serena  ?  Have  you 
always  now  pain  in  your  hip,  poor  little  Serena  ?" 

Roguishly  smiling,  Serena  replied,  "  I  thank  you,  my  good 
ones,  but  it  is  above  fifteen  years  now  since  I  had  any  pain." 

"  No,  really  !  Heavens  !  I  fancied  you  were  always  ill,  you 
look  so  pale, — but  then  that's  the  fault  of  your  dress.  What 
material  is  it  ?  What  old-world  Laventine  !  Heavens  !  you 
are  quite  old-fashioned,  little  Serena!  quite  behindhand." 

"  I  am  not  just  come  from  Paris,"  said  Serena,  with  all 
that  cheerful  goodness  which  removes  bitterness  from  her  own 
heart,  as  well  as  from  that  of  others.  She  then  observed 
the  dresses  of  the  censorious  young  ladies,  admired  them, 
questioned  them  about  Paris,  and  listened  with  evident  plea- 
sure to  all  that  they  could  relate  to  her.  The  two  sisters 
seemed  to  me  to  become  more  agreeable  whilst  they  conversed 
with  Serena. 

Cousin  Stellan  passed  about  from  one  to  another  ;  had  at 
first  a  lively  conversation  with  Miss  von  P.,  which  seemed 
soon  to  weary  him ;  then  turned  to  the  brothers  Stahiiark, 
who  had  seated  themselves  down  in  a  corner  of  the  room, 
with  other  gentlemen,  to  talk  about  dogs  and  horses  ;  steered 
away  then  to  several  landed-proprietors,  who  were  talking  over 
together  the  brandy  monopoly.  As  he  made  his  way  from 
these,  he  was  snapped  up  by  Mrs.  von  P.,  and  on  account  of 
his  sins  was  he  doomed  to  hear  her  expatiate  on  art  and 
education.  At  length  he  tore  himself  from  her,  and  made 
halt  by  Serena,  in  whose  graceful  society  he  seemed  to  feel 
himself  right. 

In  the  mean  time,  I  took  a  lesson  from  my  friend  Brita 
Kajsa,  on  housewifery  and  maid-servants ;  but  becoming 
sleepy  therefrom,  I  sought  out  the  Patriarchs,  with  whom 
I  endeavoured  to  accomplish  my  great  work — the  having 
Serena  with  me  for  fourteen  days  at  Eosenvik.  It  did  not 
seem  impossible  that  I  should  succeed.  Long  live  elo 
quence ! 

Miss  Hellevi  Husgafvel  was  prevented  by  a  previous  en- 


THE  JTEIGHBOIIES. 


gagement  from  being  at  the  great  Carlsfors  feast.  Thia 
circumstance,  Ma  chere  mere's  serious  humour,  and  the 
great  heat  without  and  within,  caused  there  to  be  no  par- 
ticuLar  life  in  the  company. 

"VYhen  Serena  had  left,  with  her  grandparents,  which  was 
very  early,  it  grew  heavier  and  heavier ;  and  I  was  glad  when 
I  was  once  more  seated  in  the  cabriolet  by  my  own  Bear,  on 
the  way  to  our  delightful  Eosenvik. 

19th. 

Oh,  the  violent,  hideous,  cruel,  detestable  ! — you  shall  hear 
whom. 

Cousin  Stellan  was  gone  yesterday  afternoon  into  the 
town  to  pay  a  visit  to  the  Dahls.  Bear  and  I  rejoiced  to  be 
alone.  He  had  brought  out  his  tools  ;  I  had  drawn  my  little 
work-table  to  the  sofa,  and  just  opened  the  third  part  of  the 
"  Watch  Tower  in  Koatven,"  which  I  was  reading  aloud. 
That  book  is  to  me  horrible:  the  only  good  lesson  which  it 
seems  io  me  people  can  derive  from  it— I  have  skimmed  it 
through  to  the  end — is  to  feel  what  a  moral  extravagance  the 
life  of  many  people  and  many  things  in  this  world  would 
present,  if  we  did  not  cast  our  glance  to  the  solving  of  the 
great  riddle,  to  the  sequel  of  the  history  on  the  other  side  of 
the  grave.  Tor  my  part,  I  would  gladly  throw  the  book  into 
the  fire  ;  but  Bear  insists  that  we  should  finish  it.  I  fancy 
all  the  grislinesses  of  the  book  give  him  pleasure. 

At  the  very  moment,  however,  when  I  was  about  to  begin 
reading,  I  glanced  through  the  window.  The  leaves  of  the 
lilach  bushes  whispered  in  the  wind,  the  swans  moved  their 
white  wings,  clouds  collected  softly  towards  the  west,  and  it 
seemed  to  me  as  if  all  beckoned  and  whispered,  "  come  out ! 
come  out !"  and  an  indescribable  desire  impelled  me  into  the 
fresh  air  and  greenness.  I  seized  Bear  by  the  ear,  and  whis- 
pered my  wishes.  He  grumbled  a  little,  stretched  himself, 
and  then  after  a  few  moments  stood  up  and  took  his  hat. 
The  good  Bear ! 

I  soon  put  on  my  bonnet  and  shawl,  and  took  my  Bear's 
arm.  The  moment  we  were  about  to  pass  through  the  door, 
he  looked  around  with  a  peculiar  long  glance  as  if  he  had 
forgotten  something,  and  I,  for  I  know  very  well  the  meaning 
of  all  his  loolcs,  sprang  in  immediately,  took  his  pipe,  filled  it 
myself,  struck  fire  and  lighted  it,  to  Bear's  ijreat  delight. 


rHAJJfSISKA  WEENEE  TO  MAEIA  M. 


167 


Bear  bad  a  wish  to  go  and  look  about  in  the  park  at  Eamm. 
"We  procured  a  rower,  and  very  cool  and  pleasant  was  it  to 
Bail  there  across  that  peaceful  lake.  Bear  puffed  in  long 
volumes  the  smoke  from  his  pipe ;  I  sang  little  barcaroles ; 
and  sailing  on  unconsciously  about  a  mile  and  a  half,  struck 
upon  the  land  by  the  shadow}^  shore  of  Eamm.  We  landed 
tolerably  far  from  the  house,  and  then  arm  in  arm  went  into 
the  gloomy,  beautiful  park.  I  felt  myself  happy  ;  happy  to 
be  wandermg  on  Bear's  arm  in  the  still  wood  ;  to  feel  how 
the  fresh  delicious  air  played  on  my  face ;  to  know  my  Bear 
to  be  so  good,  and  to  see  the  heaven  above  us  so  clear.  Also 
he  was  happy,  to  be  wandering  with  his  wife  amid  the  re- 
membrances of  his  childhood.  He  looked  around  him, 
breathed  deeply,  and  said  in  a  low  voice,  while  he  pressed 
my  arm  to  him,  "  How  glorious !"  And  know,  my  Maria, 
if  Bear  says  one  word,  it  has  more  weight  than  a  hundred 
out  of  the  mouth  of  another. 

So  wandered  we  deeper  and  deeper  into  the  wood.  The 
high  thick-leaved  trees ;  the  shade,  the  silence,  the  recollec- 
tions which  seemed  to  abide  under  these  shades,  the  loneli- 
ness, and  the  image  of  the  gloomy  hermit  of  E/amm,  which 
involuntarily  stood  there  like  the  Grenius  of  the  place ;  all 
combined  to  produce  in  us  a  solemnity  of  mood.  But  as  we 
slowly  wandered  onward  we  heard,  at  first  dull,  then  more 
distinctly,  a  treading  and  stamping  as  of  a  wild  horse  which 
some  one  was  endeavouring,  but  in  vain,  to  master.  I  have 
no  great  fancy  for  unbroken  horses;  but  Bear  must  have 
had,  for  he  hastened  his  steps  towards  the  place  from  whence 
the  noise  proceeded.  We  advanced  to  an  open  space,  and 
there  making  halt  were  fascinated  by  the  wild  but  fine 
spectacle. 

The  same  man  and  the  same  horse  which  we  had  seen  once 
before  wandering  together  in  such  Idyllian  peace,  we  here 
beheld  again;  but  now  in  violent  contest.  The  man  sate 
eommandingly  on  the  back  of  the  horse,  which  he  would 
compel  to  leap  over  a  broad  ditch.  The  beautiful  creature 
trembled  and  backed.  It  threw  itself  to  the  left  and  to  the 
right ;  it  pawed,  it  would  not  take  the  leap.  The  foam  flowed 
from  its  black  and  shining  body.  But  like  an  intrepid, 
despotic  will,  the  man  sate  firm,  admonishing,  punishing 
compelling. 


168 


THE  NEIGHBOURS. 


The  noble  animal  developed  in  this  wild  strife  the  whole 
beauty  of  his  race.  His  eyes  sparkled,  his  wide  outspread 
nostrils  seemed  to  spout  forth  fire,  while  he  struck  the  earth 
with  his  hoofs,  and  with  a  hundred  leaps  sought  to  escape 
that  one  leap  which  he  was  urged  to.  With  unexampled 
skill  sate  the  rider  firm,  and  moved  himself  with  the  motions 
of  the  horse,  whose  master  he  endeavoured  to  become ;  and 
ever  again  was  the  refractory  animal  brought  to  the  same 
spot.  The  same  demand  was  made,  and  ever  again  began 
the  same  contest.  Thus  certainly  for  an  hour  did  the  two 
strive  together.  The  horse  then  appeared  weary ;  became 
still,  but  made  no  attempt  to  obey  the  will  of  his  master. 
The  blood  ran  down  his  spur-fretted  sides.  The  man  dis- 
mounted and  threw  the  bridle  loose.  The  horse  stood  quiet 
and  looked  at  him.  He  took  something  from  his  breast- 
pocket, held  it  to  the  forehead  of  the  horse.  "  It  is  the  third 
time  we  have  striven,"  said  he  sullenly,  "farewell !" 

There  was  a  flash  before  the  forehead  of  the  horse,  a  shot 
was  fired,  and  the  steed  fell  at  the  feet  of  his  master.  We 
saw  it  stretch  forth  its  head  when  dying  as  if  for  a  caress  ; 
we  heard  a  dull  groan  ;  then  all  was  still ! 

With  a  violence  which  I  had  never  seen  before  in  Bear  he 
pressed  my  arm  to  him,  struck  his  clenched  fist  to  his  brow, 
and  drawing  back,  exclaimed  to  himself,  "  It  is  Eruno ! 
Lord,  my  Grod  !  yes,  it  is  he !" 

"It  is  Satan,  Satan  himself!"  cried  I,  greatly  excited. 
"  Oh,  Bear,  let  us  go  !  go  far  from  this  horrible  man.  I  wiU 
not  see  him  again  !" 

"  It  was  Bruno  !"  repeated  Bear,  as  we  re-entered  the 

wood.    "  Where  was  I,  that  I  did  not  sooner  But  now  he 

was  so  like  himself — wild,  unmanageably  wild,  at  every  oppo- 
sition— and  that  expression  of  brow  and  mouth !  Bruno 
alive !    Bruno  here  ?" 

"  I  wish  he  were  far  enough  from  here,"  said  I,  vehemently. 
"  He  is  a  fearful  man,  and  he  will  murder  us  all  if  we  do  not 
all  the  madnesses  which  he  will  require  from  us." 

I  was  violently  agitated,  and  was  obliged  to  sit  down. 
Bear  also  was  pale,  and  repeated,  with  a  mixture  of  disquiet, 
joy,  and  pain,  "  Bruno  here  again !  Bruno  here !  What— 
what  will  his  mother  say  ?" 


FBANSISKA  WEENEE  TO  MAEIA  M. 


1G9 


"  Ah  she  will  let  him  go  again !  I  wish  he  were  in 
Hotany  Bay,  to  which  place  he  helongs." 

"  You  should  not  wish  so,  Fanny,"  said  Bear ;  "  Bruno  ia 
not  bad.  He  has  his  wild  moments  ;  but  if  he  be  the  least 
like  what  he  was,  he  has  also  his  good  ones.  Mildness  and 
love  may  work  infinitely  upon  him.  Even  his  coming  back, 
his  residence  here,  speak  in  favour  of  his  heart."  Seldom 
had  Bear  spoken  with  so  much  fervour. 

"  And  what  will  now  be  done  ?"  asked  I,  full  of  disquiet. 

"  He  must  be  reconciled  with  his  mother ;  he  must  remain 
amongst  us,"  replied  my  husband. 

"  The  bandit !  the  murderer !" 

"We  shall  see,  we  shall  see,"  said  Bear. 

"  We  will  go  away  from  here,  otherwise  he  will  shoot  even 
us  because  we  stand  in  his  way,"  said  I.  "  Oh,  let  us  go 
back  to  our  little  peaceful  Eosenvik  !" 

We  did  so.  It  seemed  to  me  as  if  I  came  from  a  tempested 
sea,  so  much  was  I  disturbed  and  disquieted. 

When  we  came  back  to  our  home,  we — that  is,  myself — 
talked  backwards  and  forwards  of  that  which  had  happened, 
of  what  could  be  done,  and  of  what  would  happen.  Bear 
went  with  his  hands  behind  him  up  and  down  the  room, 
spitting  right  and  left,  and  exclaiming  musingly,  "  Hum ! 
hum !" 

At  length  we  became  unanimous  that  nothing  further  was 
to  be  done  than  to  keep  the  discovery  which  we  had  made 
secret,  and  await  the  time. 

Bear  slept  not  a  wink  this  night,  neither  did  I ;  but  to- 
wards morning  I  dozed,  and  dreamed  that  Bruno  had  struck 
a  dagger  into  the  heart  of  his  mother.  I  heard  her  thrilling 
cry,  "  My  blood  !  my  own  flesh  and  blood !"  and  saw  her  sink 
into  a  deep  abyss.  When  I  awoke  I  was  so  agitated  that  I 
burst  into  tears.  And  yet  once  more  I  must  gave  vent  to 
my  feelings,  and  exclaim,  out  of  the  depths  of  my  heart,  "  Oh, 
the  violent,  hateful,  cruel,  abominab.3  man!" 

20th. 

No;  I  cannot  detest  him  yet.  Bruno  has  a  heart,  al- 
though he  is  cruel  to  horses. 

Yesterday  evening  he  came  to  us,  and  my  heart  opposed 
itself  against  him  like  a  wild  horse,  and  I  could  not  speak  a 
friendly  word  to  him.    The  visit  began  with  an  almost  genen 


170 


THE  KEIGHBOUES. 


ral  silence  ;  but  I  looked  at  Bear,  and  I  saw  that  his  brother's 
heart  yearned  towards  him,  and  could  not  longer  contain 
itself. 

Cousin  Stellan  had  just  begun  to  read  to  us  aloud  a  part 
of  "  The  Jew"  of  Spindler,  which  he  admired  as  a  master- 
piece among  works  of  horror.  Bruno's  arrival  interrupted 
the  reading,  and  a  few  moments  afterwards  Stellan  laid  down 
the  book.  Bruno  perceived  this,  and  begged  that  if  we  were 
engaged  in  reading  that  he  might  be  permitted  to  be  one 
of  the  auditors.  Cousin  Stellan  therefore  explained  to  him 
shortly  that  of  which  this  part  of  the  book  treated  ;  and  how 
the  Jew  Zodik  had  been  baptised  to  a  religion  which  he  de- 
tested, by  criminal  means,  and  through  the  cruellest  act  of 
power  of  a  Christian  Knight,  and  then  on  this  very  account 
had  been  barbarously  jested  and  sneered  at  by  the  knight 
himself;  how  under  these  circumstances  the  most  terrible 
despair  took  possession  of  his  soul ;  he  felt  himself  cast  out 
of  heaven  and  earth. 

"  Every  paradise  is  closed  against  me !  Must  I  then  be 
lost  ? — Cursed  Christian !  You  have  stolen  my  soul  from 
me !  I  curse  you  !  I  vow  revenge  upon  you ;  retributive 
revenge  !"  Here  was  it  that  Stellan  had  left  off  reading,  here 
continued  he  :  "  These  thoughts  animated  the  unhappy  one, 
torn  with  doubt  and  despondency,  with  a  spark  which  por- 
ceeded  not  from  heaven  but  from  the  deep.  Zodik  collected 
together  his  thoughts,  and  with  streaming  hair  glared  wildly 
up  to  the  jagged  clouds,  which  sent  down  in  vain  their 
thickest  snow-flakes  to  cool  that  raging  Moloch  image.  *  The 
bond  is  rent !'  yelled  he  forth,  the  only  living  being  under 
the  still  icy  rain.  '  Samiel,  prince  of  the  wilderness,  prince 
of  death,  and  consort  of  the  horrible  night-queen  Lilis,  the 
mother  of  fearful  ghosts  and  of  all  sins, — to  thee  I  resign 
myself!  Defend  me  from  the  anger  of  our  Grod!  Concea* 
me  from  the  wrath  of  Edom !  Teach  me  to  bear  the  sword 
against  that  law  which  is  mine  no  longer !  Permit  me  to  take 
vengeance  on  Israel  as  well  as  on  Esau,  till  thou  takest  home 
my  soul  in  the  tempest  of  thy  wrath !'  " 

The  narrative  relates  further  how  Zodik  hardened  himself 
m  hellish  sentiments.  He  became  calmer;  he  conceived 
that  it  was  permitted  on  earth  to  the  lost-one  to  live  two- 
fold, in  his  own  joys  and  in  the  sufferings  of  others.  He 


FEANSISKA  WEEIS^ER  TO  MARIA  M. 


171 


declared  all  men  outlawed ;  and,  drunken  with  a  savage  joy 
from  the  horrible  pictures  which  ascended  in  his  soul,  he 
thanked  Eate  for  the  occasion  which  had  lent  him  power  to 
quench  his  thirst  for  revenge,  and  to  become  the  enemy  of 
the  whole  human  race. 

"  That  is  horrible,"  said  I,  as  Stellan  ceased  reading ;  "  but 
is  it  natural  F  is  it  true  ?  Is  it  not  one  of  the  terror-pictures 
which  the  romances  of  our  age  conjure  forth,  but  which  have 
no  counterpart  in  reality  ?  Crimes  and  criminals  I  can  con- 
ceive ;  but  not  an  obdurate  man-hater  ;  not  a  devil  in  human 
form." 

Cousin  Stellan  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  At  all  events," 
said  he,  "the  representation  is  successful  and  full  of  effect." 

"  And  precisely  because  it  is  quite  natural,  quite  true," 
said  Bruno,  emphatically.  ^'  The  sinner  must  become  a  devil 
if  he  has  no  more  hope." 

"  And  who  need  be  without  hope  ?"  asked  Eear,  with  the 
confidence  which  becomes  a  pure  heart  so  well.  "  Who  can- 
not, yes !  who  ought  not  to  hope  ?" 

"  Can  you  cast  the  burden  of  pain  or  of  remorse  from  a 
human  breast,  so  that  it  may  open  itself  to  hope  ?"  inquired 
Bruno  in  a  tone  of  reproof.  "  Can  you  prevent  passion  from 
shattering  and  embittering  ?  To  hope  ?  Then  take  out  of 
the  world  punishment  ten  times  severer  than  the  crime 
deserves — then  take  out  of  the  soul  words  which  once  spoken 
burn  there  for  ever  !" 

Stellan  here  was  called  out  by  the  Brothers  Stalmark, 
who,  in  hunting  dress  and  followed  by  a  pack  of  dogs,  crossed 
the  court.  He  was,  or  rather  he  wished  to  be,  eager  for  the 
chase,  and  left  us.  Thus  he  did  not  hear  how  I,  burning  in 
soul  against  Bruno,  on  account  of  his  horse  and  various  other 
causes,  answered  him  somewhat  bitterly. 

"  If  you  remove  haughtiness — if  you  remove  anger  and 
evil  passions  out  of  the  soul  of  man,  then  you  will  see  that 
punishment  improves,  and  that  misfortune  purifies  and  leads 
to  humility  and  hope." 

"  Punishment !"  exclaimed  Bruuo  with  mournful  warmth 
"  believe  me  there  are  sins  which  punishment  cannot  reform. 
There  are  natures  whom  severity  only  hardens.   They  plunge 
themselves  only  deeper  upon  the  sword  which  is  sheathed  in 
their  breast.    Would  you  save  a  criminal  of  this  kind  from 


172 


THE  KElGHBOtJES. 


eternal  perdition,  would  you  change  the  heart  in  his  breast  f 
then  reach  to  him  the  hand  of  love,  forgive  him,  even  if  he 
do  not  deserve  forgiveness  ;  bat  repel  him  not,  cast  him  not 
off!  A  heart  may  vibrate  long  between  good  and  evil;  it 
may  be  loDg  before  it  can  be  saved — but  the  hour  comes 
when  it  may  be  hardened  for  ever.  If,''  continued  he,  "  the 
only  bosom  after  which  it  longs  in  this  world  close  itseK 
against  him,  then  is  every  paradise  of  life  closed  against  him  \ 
If  one  horrible  unappeasable  remembrance  comes,  and  comes 
again  for  ever,  night  and  day,  every  hour,  every  moment, 
faUs  upon  the  soul  like  an  ice  shower,  then — bitter,  bitter, 
bitter!" 

Bruno  supported  his  forehead  on  his  hand  ;  he  seemed  to 
have  forgotten  us,  and  everything  around  him.  The  thunder- 
bolt upon  his  forehead  was  spread  out  in  sharp  angles.  After 
a  few  moments  he  looked  up  again  with  a  flashing  glance, 
and  resumed, — "  And  under  such  circumstances  shall  a  man 
reform  himself,  become  good,  and  hope?"  He  laughed 
bitterly.  "Ah,  you  good,  happy  people!  go  out  into  the 
world,  visit  the  prisons,  the  galleys  ; — ^look  into  those  hearts 
which  wear  heavier  fetters  than  their  bodies,  and  talk  to 
them  of  reform!  There  are  furies  in  life,  in  hearts — the 
legends  of  them  in  the  old  times  are  no  invention — go  out  to 
those  who  are  driven  by  the  furies,  and  preach  of  hope — if 
you  have  courage  to  do  so !" 

"  Yes,  upon  my  soul!"  cried  Bear,  stamping  on  the  floor  as 
if  in  anger,  although  his  eyes  were  fuU  of  tears  ;  "  yes,  I  wiU 
preach  of  hope, — and  this  in  prisons,  by  land  and  on  sea.  I 
wiU  cry  it  in  the  ear  of  the  dying  malefactor, — will  shout  it 
even  to  the  other  side  of  death,  to  the  other  side  of  the  grave ; 
— I  will  cry  into  endless  eternity,  'hope,  hope !'  " 

"  He  goes  further  far,"  thought  I  to  myself;  "  yet  never- 
theless he  is  right !"  and  I  rejoiced  over  my  Bear. 

"  Would  you?"  said  Bruno  slowly,  his  cheek  blanching, 
while  he  supported  his  head  with  his  hand — "  would  you  also 
talk  of  hope  to  those  who  sustained  the  curse  of  father  or 
mother  ? — and  who  had  deserved  it,"  added  he  with  an  almost 
inarticulate  voice. 

"  Yes,  in  the  name  of  aU  the  world!"  cried  Bear  vehe- 
mently ;  "  and  wherefore,"  continued  he  in  a  tone  and  with  a 
maimer  which  wholly  bewildered  me^  "  wherefore  this  doubt 


FRAIfSTSKA  WEEITEE  TO  MAEIA  M. 


173 


and  tliis  Jeremiad,  and  these  lamentable  despairings,  in  a 
man  and  in  a  Christian  ?  Why  are  you  come  to  disturb  us 
with  these  things  ?" 

The  blood  mounted  into  Bruno's  face ;  he  cast  an  inquiring 
glance  on  his  brother. 

Bear  looked  quite  ferocious  and  exasperated,  as  he  ex- 
claimed, "  I  acknowledge  that  it  seems  to  me  quite  extra- 
ordinary that  you  come  here  as  a  stranger  into  my  peaceful 
house,  to  disturb  our  quiet  with  your  speeches  about  prisons, 
galleys,  furies,  and  all  kinds  of  hateful  disputations  which 
do  not  concern  us." 

Bruno,  astonished,  wounded,  and  proud,  stood  up  and  cast 
upon  Bear  his  wonderful,  penetrating,  and  flashing  eyes. 
He  then  sunk  them  again,  and  said,  in  a  voice  which  ex- 
pressed both  repressed  pain  and  anger,  "  Have  I  disturbed 
your  peace?  I  will  not  disturb  it  again !  Earewell!"  He 
bowed  to  me  and  moved  towards  the  door.  Bear  followed 
him  and  spoke  still  louder — 

"  Yes,  it  appears  to  me  quite  extraordinary,  inexplicable, 
and  unpardonable,  that  you  come  as  a  stranger,  and  talk  of 
despair,  and  irremediable  misfortune  ;  of  repulsion,  and  that 

in"  here  Bear  laid  his  hand  suddenly  on  Bruno's  arm,  as 

turning  himself  in  the  door,  he  cast  upon  him  a  look  in  which 
all  the  lightnings  of  the  world  seemed  agitating  his  soul, — 
"  and  that  in  the  house  of  a  brother,  which  is  your  own  house 
also,  and  before  a  friend  who  will  do  aH  for — for  Brimo  ! — 
Yes,  it  is  unpardonable!" 

Bear  held  him  in  his  arms,  and  pressed  him  to  his  honest 
breast.  The  storm  dissolved  away  in  tears  of  love ;  Bruno 
was  beside  himseK ;  the  colour  changed  in  his  countenance 
with  a  thousand  contending  emotions,  at  last  all  lost  them- 
selves in  a  sentiment  of  overwhelming  tenderness.  He  pressed 
his  brother  warmly  to  his  breast,  kissed  him,  embraced  him 
again,  stammering  out,  "  Brother ! — brother ! — Lars  Anders  ! 
— can  you  yet  remember  me — ^will  you  acknowledge  me,  and 
love  me  as  before  ?" 

"  Silence!"  howled  Bear,  almost  inarticulate  with  crying, 
"  silence  with  your  stupid  questions  !  Come,  here  is  my 
wife  !    We  both  are  one,  embrace  her !" 

I  confess  that  the  image  of  the  dying  horse  had  quite 
vanished  out  of  my  mind.    I  sat  there  and  wept  at  the 


174 


THE  NEIGHBOTTES. 


embracing  of  tlie  brothers,  and  when  Bruno  approacihed  me 
I  presented  to  him  my  cheek.  He  kissed  my  hand  also,  and 
embraced  Bear  again.  That  warm  loving  heart  glanced  from 
his  eyes,  and  from  his  whole  being.  I  loved  him  right  well 
at  this  moment. 

We  had  scarcely  begun  in  some  measure  to  compose  our- 
selves, when  we  heard  Cousin  Stellan  unexpectedly  returning. 
"  Secret!"  said  Bruno,  in  a  low  emphatic  voice.  Again  we 
seated  ourselves,  as  quietly  and  with  as  much  indifference  as 
possible. 

After  Stellan' s  entrance,  Bruno  remained  for  a  long  time 
silent ;  at  length  said  he,  "  One  of  my  people  at  Eamm  is 
dangerously  ill.  Could  I  beg  Dr.  Werner  to  visit  him  ?  I 
should  prefer  this  evening,  or  perhaps  to-morrow." 

"  I  should  prefer  this  evening,  returned  Bear.  The  earlier 
the  better,  before  it  be  too  late." 

They  made  themselves,  therefore,  immediately  ready  to 
depart ;  and,  as  Bear  took  leave,  he  whispered  to  me  to  be 
quite  easy,  even  if  he  did  not  return  till  late  in  the  night. 

I  remained  alone  with  Stellan,  who  might  find  me  the  most 
wearisome  companion  in  the  world,  for  my  thoughts  were  far 
from  him  ;  and  although  he  spoke  much  of  Serena,  I  remained 
silent  and  absent. 

Bear  did  not  return  home  till  midnight,  and  see  here  pretty 
much  what  he  related. 

It  appears  from  Bruno's  papers,  as  well  as  from  his  own 
account,  that  he  was  some  time  in  the  Portuguese  service. 
After  the  conclusion  of  the  peace,  he  took  his  leave  and 
voyaged  to  the  West  Indies  ;  where,  in  partnership  with  a 
planter,  he  amassed  his  fortune  by  trade.  He  became  rich  ; 
passed  many  years,  partly  in  the  plantations,  and  partl}^  in 
travelling ;  he  led  a  much-employed  and  active  life  ;  but  a 
longing  after  his  native  land,  the  desire  to  be  reconciled  to 
his  mother,  took  every  stronger  possession  of  his  soul,  and  at 
last  acquired  such  height,  that  life  lost  all  worth  for  him. 
He  determined  to  make  the  attempt,  whether  or  not  he  could 
free  himself  from  the  curse  which  pursued  him  like  furies  ; 
and  thus,  under  an  assumed  name,  he  had  travelled  to 
Sweden,  and  had  come  to  Eamm.  Here  he  sought  intelli- 
gence of  his  mother's  state  of  mind,  learned  her  condition 
after  his  flight ;  and  how,  since  then,  she  had  lemoved  from 


FEANSISKA  TTEHNER  TO  MAKLA  M. 


173 


about  lier  all  remembrances  of  bim,  and  tbat  sbe  was  still 
unable  to  bear  his  name  spoken ;  and  tbe  wildest  despair  bad 
taken  bold  of  bis  soul.  It  appeared  to  torture  Bruno  to 
speak  on  tbe  subject,  and  be  interrupted  bimself,  witb  tbe 
words,  "  Nevertbeless,  an  attempt  must  be  made — wben,  I 
know  not.    Let  us  now  speak  no  more  about  it !" 

If  tbis  attempt  succeed,  be  will  bring  bis  great  wealtb  to 
Sweden,  purchase  Ramm,  and  settle  bimself  down  tbere. 
Succeed  it  not,  be  will  return  to  tbe  West  Indies,  and  become 
as  one  dead  to  family  and  fatherland. 

So  stands  it.  How  will  it  go  on  ?  "Hope  !"  Bear  said 
to  bis  brother,  but  still  his  knowledge  of  tbe  character  both 
of  mother  and  son,  make  him  uneasy  as  to  the  result.  Yet, 
after  all,  Bear  rejoices  in  his  soul  over  the  return  of  his 
brother ;  and,  moreover,  that  he  has  found  his  heart  to  be 
warm  as  ever. 

"  But  did  you  say  nothing  to  him  about  the  horse  ?"  asked 
I.  "  Certainly  I  did,"  he  replied ;  "  since  I  told  him  where, 
and  by  what  means  I  had  recognised  him."  Bruno  coloured 
deeply,  and  said,  "  that  was  an  unfortunate  hour.  I  had 
resolved  to  make  this  very  leap  a  prophecying  of  the  result 
of  my  fate.  I  would  that  it  should  be  taken.  As  the  oppo- 
sition could  not  be  overcome,  I  was  embittered — but  that 
which  I  have  done  distresses  me  !" 

"  He  is  at  least  a  man,"  exclaimed  I,  "  although  not  a 
reasonable  one !" 

Ah,  my  good  Maria !  what  will  be  the  end  of  this  ?  A 
ferocious,  unreasonable  son,  an  inflexible  mother,  who,  also, 
has  sparks  of  ferocity  in  her  soul,  and  between  them  both 
such  remembrances !  How  will  it  go  on  ?  What  will  be 
the  end  of  it  ? 

Bear  himself,  who  talks  so  much  about  hope,  does  not  look 
like  hope.    Grod  help  us  all ! 

CHAPTEE  VIII. 

Eosenvik^  July  29th. 
I  HAVE  been  for  several  days  so  busy,  so  cheerful,  so 
happy,  that  I  have  nearly  forgotten  disquiet,  anxiety,  the 
threatening  future,  and,  pardon  me,  dear  Maria,  almost  the 
pen  itself.    I  have  lived  so  much  in  the  present,  and  have  so 


17B 


THE  NEIGHBOURS. 


fully  enjoyed  it !  I  have  had,  and  still  have,  Serena  with  me. 
My  plans  have  succeeded.  I  tyrannised  Bear,  he  tyrannised 
the  Patriarchs,  and  I  received  Serena,  with  the  permission  to 
retain  her  with  me  a  whole  week,  and  perhaps  longer. 

How  joyful  was  I  the  evening  she  came !  It  was  to  me  as 
if  I  had  received  into  my  house  a  beloved  younger  sister,  to 
whom  I  should  be  as  a  mother.  How  happy  was  I  to  set 
before  her  my  eggs,  my  butter,  my  fresh-baked  rye-bread, 
and  to  spread  on  her  bed  in  the  evening  the  dazzling  white 
linen!  We  rose  early  in  the  morning,  drank  milk  from 
Audumbla ;  went  then  into  the  birch  wood,  where  Bear  has 
made  winding  walks,  so  that  it  has  the  effect  of  a  pleasure- 
ground.  I  have  enjoyed  with  her  air  and  flowers,  and  have 
seen  her  every  day  become  healthier  and  lovelier.  We  have 
read  together,  worked  together,  sung  together,  and  talked 
together,  and  all  possesses  with  Serena  a  new  and  higher 
charm. 

Wednesday  evenmg  was  a  tea  and  coffee  party  at  Bird's 
Nest.  A  little  festival,  lively  and  gay  as  the  hostess  herself, 
and  where  body  and  soul  were  equally  entertained.  It  is  a 
charming  thing  to  possess  a  museum. 

On  Friday  it  went  festively  at  Doctor  Werner's.  Eosenvik 
cannot  compare  itself  with  Bird's  Nest,  but  still  it  has,  as 
Ma  chere  mere  was  pleased  to  assert  of  its  mistress,  its  own 
little  charm.  As  this  was  our  first  great  party,  I  was  a  little 
uneasy  about  it,  whether  everything  would  go  on  quite  well 
and  as  it  should  do,  especially  on  Bear's  account,  for  I  wish 
him  to  be  always  satisfied  with  his  wife. 

rortunately  everything  did  succeed  properly ;  the  only 
misfortune  was,  that  a  few  days  before  I  had  said  to  Bear 
that  in  this  festival  he  should  be  treated  to  a  sort  of  little 
sugar-cake  which  would  actually  melt  in  his  mouth.  Un- 
luckily they  all  melted  away  in  the  oven,  so  that  the  mouth 
had  not  the  least  morsel  of  them  to  taste.  For  the  rest,  aU 
went  well,  and  our  visitors  were  politely  contented  with  all. 
Jane  Marie  played  her  heavy  piece  from  Herz.  I  sang  a 
little,  and  tlien  everybody  danced  to  the  piano.    All  were  gay. 

When  our  company  was  gone,  Bear  and  I  walked  up  and 
down  tlie  room  and  rejoiced  ourselves  that  all  had  gone  off  so 
well,  and  that  people  had  found  it  so  agreeable  Avith  us. 

"  And  how  good  evervbodv  found  the  lemonade  !"  said  L 


FRAKSISKA  WERNER  TO  MARIA  M. 


177 


And  then  the  little  sugar-cakes !"  exclaimed  Bear  with  a 
horrible  grimace;  "they  really  melted  in  one's  mouth,  so 
that  one  perceived  nothing  of  them 
I'nlucky  little  sugar-cakes ! 

The  happiest  and  the  pleasantest  days,  however,  we  have 
spent  alone  at  Eosenvik  ;  and  then  every  evening  almost  we 
eat  our  supper  on  Svano.  Cousin  Stellan  is  "aux  petits 
soins"  for  Serena!    Now,  now.  Cousin  Stellan! 

We  spent  several  evenings  at  Carlsfors.  Ma  chere  mere 
since  her  misfortunes  accepts  no  invitations.  Ma  chere 
mere  is  very  friendly  and  kind  to  me  ;  slie  addresses  me 
almost  always  with  thou  and  cliild^  and  when  the  under- 
standing between  us  is  very  good,  I  call  her  mother,  which 
seems  to  give  her  pleasure.  But  confidence  does  not  exist 
between  us,  she  does  not  invite  to  it,  and  that  Berlichingenism 
in  her  somewhat  shocks  me. 

On  Saturday,  Ebba  left  with  her  husband.  I  am  sorry  for 
it.  I  have  actually  become  attached  to  her  latterly.  There  is 
a  deal  which  is  naturally  good  in  her,  and  with  a  prudent 
management  on  Peter's  part  it  would  develope  itself  more 
and  more.  The  tears  she  shed  at  parting  proved  that  I  was 
not  indifferent  to  her.    We  promised  to  write  to  each  other. 

2nd  August. 

I  may  yet  keep  Serena  with  me  fourteen  days  longer  1 
The  good  old  Dahls  came  here  yesterday.  It  was  a  joy  to 
see  how  Serena  flew  into  their  arms,  and  how  they  embraced 
her  in  sincere  aflection.  They  rejoiced  to  see  her  blooming 
cheeks  ;  to  hear  her  progress  in  singing  (I  boast  of  her  like 
the  very  best  of  aunts  !)  ;  and  they  themselves  persuaded  the 
sweet  girl  to  fall  in  with  Bear's  commands  and  my  sincere 
^^ishes.  Serena  seems  to  feel  it  difficult  to  leave  the  old 
people,  but  consented  at  last  to  the  prayers  of  all,  and  so  I 
have  yet  fourteen  happy  days  more. 

Between  Jane  Marie  and  me  all  is  again  harmonious.  It 
is  always  a  pleasure  to  me  to  converse  with  her,  and  her 
musical  talent  is  truly  uncommon.  She  appears  to  me  also 
to  be  much  more  agreeable  since  Ebba  has  left.  The  inter- 
course between  these  two  could  never  be  friendly.  It  is  with 
certain  persons  as  with  certain  stuffs.    Each  taken  by  itself 


178 


THE  KEIGHBOUES. 


is  very  good,  but  when  the  two  come  together  they  put  out 
each  other,  and  they  lose  mutually  in  colour,  Jane  Marie 
also  becomes  more  polite  towards  Ma  chere  mere,  who  on 
her  side  becomes  more  friendly  to  her,  although  she  always 
keeps  her  at  a  certain  distance,  especially  in  housekeeping 
afiairs. 

Jane  Marie  has  unquestionable  merits  as  a  wife,  and  she 
and  Jean  Jacques  are  excellently  well  satisfied  with  each  other. 

Till  now  I  have  only  given  you  sunshine,  now  comes  a 
cloud.  This  is  called  Bruno.  Bruno  is  often  here  in  an 
evening.  I  know  not  why,  or  from  what  cause,  but  I  am 
always  anxious  when  he  comes ;  it  seems  to  me  as  if  an  evil 
power  dwelt  in  him,  as  if  he  in  some  way  or  other  would 
occasion  misfortune.  The  warm  sunbeams  which  seemed  to 
break  forth  from  him  as  he  saw  himself  acknowledged  and 
embraced  by  his  brother,  have  now  vanished.  The  tempest- 
nature  has  again  the  upper  hand,  and  Bruno  is  reserved  and 
gloomy.  Yet  this  extraordinary  man  has  a  mysterious  influ- 
ence over  us  all.  I  fear  that  Serena  feels  it  deeper  than  I 
should  wish,  although  I  cannot  say  that  decidedly.  Bruno, 
on  the  contrary,  seems  to  me  evidently  captivated  by  her. 
He  observes  her ;  he  listens  to  all  that  she  says,  as  people 
listen  to  music  of  which  they  will  not  lose  one  tone.  Serena 
is  kind  and  friendly  to  him,  but  so  is  she  also  to  Stellan — to 
whom,  indeed,  is  she  not  so  ?  But  then  I  have  fancied  that 
I  have  seen  at  times  a  certain  bashfulness  towards  Bruno, 
which  in  her  intercourse  with  Stellan  I  never  perceived,  and 
this  is  not  a  good  sign.  But  perhaps  this  may  be  only  a 
natural  consequence  of  the  dissimilar  nature  and  dissimilar 
behaviour  of  these  tw^o  men.  Even  I,  in  Bruno's  company, 
am  not  quite  self-possessed.  Neither  of  the  two  exactly 
pleases  me  as  a  husband  for  Serena ;  but  Stellan  I  prefer  to 
Bruno. 

5th  August. 

Aha  !  Cousin  Stellan,  is  it  so  ?  What  do  you  think  now, 
dear  Maria?  Here  now  has  our  former  despiser  of  mar- 
riagel  sate  a  whole  hour  and  talked  of  the  happiness  of  a 
well-assorted  marriage,  and  of  the  pleasures  and  joys  which 
domestic  life  must  afford — and  then  came  sighs  and  melan- 
choly looks,  and  hints  that  he  also  held  it  for  the  highest 


FHANSISKA  WERNER  TO  MARIA  M , 


179 


happiness  to  settle  down  domestically  with  an  amiable  accom- 
plished wife.  And  I — I  threw  all  his  former  difficulties  in 
the  way. 

"  But,  Cousin  Stellan,  the  sour  paste  ?  But  Cousin  Stellan, 
the  wash-bucket  ?  Your  wife  must  have  the  house  scoured ! 
But,  Cousin  Stellan,  that  crying  of  children  ?  All  little 
children  cry,  even  if  they  be  descended  from  the  best-educated 
parents.  And  that  apple  which  is  found  in  all  families  1" 
To  all  these  Stellan  had  one  answer,  the  substance  of  which 
was,  that  all  earthly  disagreeables,  with  a  really  prudent  and 
agreeable  vdfe,  would  be  perceived  only  as  a  light  cloud, 
which  appears  transiently  in  the  heavens,  and  then  is  gone 
again.  I  cherished  the  same  opinion  exactly,  and  said  so  at 
length. 

"  Yes,"  said  Stellan,  "  one  first  becomes  perfectly  aware  of 
this  when  one  meets  with  a  person  who  gives  by  her  beautiful 
harmonious  nature  a  charm  and  grace  to  all  that  surrounds 
her.  One  feels  then  first,  that  they  are  the  intrinsic  qualities 
which  fashion  this  outer  world,  and  that  the  connexion 
between  the  two  is  governed  by  them." 

"  Yes,  so  it  is.  Cousin  Stellan,  and  I  confess  that  I  have 
long  anticipated  this  change  in  your  views." 

"  How  so  ?"  asked  Stellan,  blushing. 

"  Confess  that  a  person  in  our  neighbourhood  has  particu- 
larly tended  to  your  seeing  marriage  and  domestic  life  in  a 
brighter  point  of  view." 

"  Hum ! — ^yes,  now,  I  cannot  deny  that,"  said  he. 

"  I  have  seen  it  long,"  I  observed.  "  I  am  not  astonished. 
Cousin  Stellan ;  you  have  not  been  able  to  see  coolly  Miss 
Hellevi  Husgafvel  and  her  Bird's  Nest." 

"What! — whom?  how?"  Cousin  Stellan  sprang  up  in 
confusion,  and  looked  at  me  with  terror.  I  could  not  help 
laughing.  Stellan  seemed  hurt,  and  said,  "  You  jest,  Fran- 
siska,  and  that  is  not  right  of  you!" 

"  Pardon  me,  Stellan,"  I  replied,  "  but  confess  that  Bird's 
Nest  possesses  not  the  least  of  these  disagreeables  which  you 
find  so  great;  it  never  can  smell  there  of  sour  paste,  and 
certainly  it  is  scoured  only  once  a  year ;  besides  which.  Miss 
Hellevi  is  a  person  with  whom  life  never  could  be  heavy  and 
wearisome." 

^  2 


180 


THE  IS^EIGHBOIIES. 


"  God  defend  us  !"  exclaimed  he ;  "  her  excessive  sprighte- 
ness  would  occasion  me  fever ;  in  eight  days  I  should  die  of 
Bird's  JNTest  and  frenzy,  and  then  she  would  emhalm  me,  and 
over  and  above  would  most  likely  be  glad  of  me  for  a 
mummy  for  her  museum.  I  thank  you,  Cousin  Eransiska! 
no,  look  in  another  direction." 

"  That  I  have  done  already,  Cousin  Stellan,"  I  replied ; 
but  then  a  great  hut  comes  in  my  way.  This  person  is  ex- 
cellent, but  then — she  limps." 

"  The  beautiful  and  renowned  La  Valliere,"  said  he,  "  was 
also  lame  in  the  hip." 

"  Ah,  that  is  true,  and  alters  the  afiair  considerable  (for 
court  people),"  added  I  in  petto, 

"  But  she  seems  to  me,"  continued  he  "  to  have  afar  greater 
fault,  a  fault  which  is  very  objectionable  in  a  woman." 

"  G-od  forbid !  and  this  fault  ?"  asked  I. 

"  She  appears  to  me,"  said  he,  "to  have  a  cold  heart :  she 
has  a  repose  in  her  nature  which  borders  on  an  indifference 
to  pleasing.    This  is  a  great  fault  in  a  lady." 

"You  surprise  me,  Stellan,"  said  I.  "I  have  never 
observed  any  coldness  in  Serena." 

"  I  believe  still  that  it  is  so,"  he  replied ;  "  but  I  should  be 
glad  to  find  that  I  was  wrong  ;  for  she  really  is  an  excellent 
girl — but  icy  natures  are  cooling  in  the  end."  Cousin 
Stellan  said  this  in  a  light  and  tolerably  indifferent  tone, 
and  with  these  words  he  went  out. 

Ah,  Cousin  Stellan!  You  are  subtle,  but  your  fox  will 
not  catch  my  goose.  I  see  very  well  how  it  is.  Stellan 
wishes  that  I  should  examine  Serena's  heart,  and  then  that  1 
should  tell  him  whether  it  is  warm  or  cold  towards  him.  In 
the  first  case,  he  then  would  advance  securely ;  in  the  last  he 
would  withdraw  himself,  and  that  on  the  plea  of  "  that  great 
fault  ill  a  lady,"  and  thus  would  compromise  neither  his  com- 
fort nor  his  consequence.  But — does  a  man  truly  love  when 
he  is  thus  circumspect  ?  At  all  events  it  is  droll  to  see  how 
the  sour  paste  all  at  once  can  become  sweet ;  and  I  will  with- 
out doubt  take  the  opportunity  of  discovering  whether 
Serena's  heart  be  warm  or  cold  towards  my  handsome  cousiu. 
It  is  another  thing  whether  I  shall  or  shall  not  impart  to  hiin 
my  discoveries. 


TEANSISKA  WEENEB,  TO  MAKIA  M. 


181 


6th  August. 

Now  I  know  what  hour  the  clock  has  struck,  and  you 
Bhall  know  it  also,  my  Maria.    Ok,  Serena !  Serena  ! 

I  was  alone  with  her  yesterday  afternoon.  I  thought  of 
Stellan,  and  asked  her  what  she  thought  of  our  young  guest. 
To  my  astonishment,  I  found  that  she  had  thought  very  little 
about  him.  She  allowed  that  he  was  handsome,  graceful,  and 
full  of  talent ;  but  she  expressed  her  admiration  with  a  des- 
perate indifference.  On  this  I  began  to  abuse  him  a  little. 
Love,  thought  I,  has  many  lurking  holes ;  and  when  we 
cannot  decoy  him  out  with  sugar,  one  often  can  with  salt : 
but  in  vain  did  I  salt  my  observation  with  Stellan' s  indolence, 
levity,  etc.  I  could  not,  in  Serena's  answers,  discover  the 
least  point  out  of  the  quiver  of  love.  Serena  excused  him 
like  christian  Charity  herself,  whilst  she  acknowledged  hia 
faults. 

"You  are  very  gentle  towards  him,  Serena,"  said  I; 
"  would  you  not  undertake  his  education,  for  example,  as 
his  wife?" 

"  Ah,  no,  no,"  replied  she,  laughing. 

"  And  why,  ah,  no,  no  !"  returned  I.  "  You  acknowledge, 
truly,  that  he  possesses  very  many  good  qualities,  and  excuse 
his  faults  with  all  zeal." 

"  Yes  ;  but  I  could  not  think  of  him  as  my  husband,"  she 
replied. 

"  And  why  not,  Serena  ?" 

"What  shall  I  say,"  returned  she.  "He  seems  to  be 
good  and  agreeable,  but  I  do  not  believe  that  he  could  really 
love  any  other  person  or  any  other  thing  than  himself." 

"  You  would  rather  have  my  Bear  then,  Serena  ?" 

"  He  who  is  so  good  to  every  one — who  has  so  warm  a 
heart — ^who  is  so  active  for  others,  oh  yes!"  said  she. 

"  It  is  weU,"  said  I,  "  that  I  have  him  in  secure  possession. 
But  tell  me,  dear  Serena,  and  pardon  me  if  I  go  too  far  with 
my  questions,  is  there  no  other  who  stands  in  Stellan' s  way? 
or  I  really  think  you  must  have  felt  a  little  warmer  interest 
for  him — perhaps  your  heart  is  already  disposed  of?  I  have 
been  told  of  a  young  man,  who,  a  few  years  since,  asked  your 
hand." 

Serena  blushed  deeply  at  the  beginning  of  my  questioD^ 
then  became  ©ale,  and  answered  after  some  reflection,  "  No 


182 


THE  l^EIGHB0trE8. 


I  did  not  love  him  ;  but  bad  I  been  able  to  bave  acted  quite 
freely,  it  is  probable  I  should  have  become  his  v^^ife/' 

"  And  wherefore,  if  you  did  not  love  him  ?" 

"  Because,"  said  she,  "  I  believed  that  he  really  loved  me, 
and  that  I  could  have  made  him  happy.  There  is  something 
beautiful  in  being  able  on  earth  to  make  one  human  being 
happy." 

"  But  you  have  had  many  lovers.  Did  none  of  them 
please  your  parents,  or  had  you  not  the  same  compassion  on 
these  as  on  the  one  you  have  just  mentioned  ?" 

"  They  did  not  need  it,"  said  she,  smiling. 

"  How  so  ;  they  really  loved  you  ?" 

"  O !  there  are  many  kinds  of  love,' '.replied  she. 

"  That  is  true,"  I  returned ;  "  let  me  see.  In  the  first 
place  we  will  set  down  temperate  love,  which  speaks  probably 
thus :  '  See,  there  is  a  good,  rational  girl,  who  will  make  a 
regular  housekeeper,  and  not  occasion  me  too  much  expense. 
She  would  be  exactly  the  wife  for  me.'  What  love  shall  we 
place  second  ?" 

"  Perhaps  the  enamoured,"  said  Serena. 

"  Yes,  certainly,"  assented  I  :  "the  enamoured,  which  has 
a  bandage  before  his  eyes,  and  becomes  enchanted  over  head 
and  ears.  This  love  may  be  violent  as  a  spring-storm  or 
modest  as  a  violet,  but  it  is  over  as  soon  as  these.  Yet  this 
love  can,  as  well  as  the  temperate  love,  elevate  itself  to  one 
more  inward,  and  may  become  nearly  related  to  a  sort  of  love 
for  which  I  have  great  esteem — I  mean  warm  friendship." 

"  Ah,  that  is  beautiful !"  said  Serena.  "  It  developes  itself 
first  perfectly  during  marriage  itself,  and  I  have  often  heard 
in  my  family  how  it  speaks  more  in  deeds  than  in  words." 

"  Tell  me  that,  dear  Serena,"  I  said,  "  since  I  also  will 
gladly  introduce  this  language  into  my  house." 

Had  a  man  stood  before  Serena  at  this  moment,  he  must 
have  thrown  himself  at  her  feet,  so  charming  and  amiable 
was  she  as  she  said — "  Thy  well-being  is  mine ;  my  weU- 
being  thine.  Let  misfortune  do  his  worst,  it  cannot  make 
me  unhappy  if  I  only  possess  thee.  If  I  have  erred,  or  if  I 
have  acted  well,  I  read  it  in  thy  eyes.  That  is  my  punish- 
ment, this  is  my  rew^ard.  Whither  should  I  go  with  my  joy 
or  with  my  sorrow,  if  not  to  thee  ?  Whither  shouldst  thoa 
gOj  if  not  to  me  ?    Have  we  not  all  thiniis  to.«ether  ?  If 


FRA^^SISKA  WERNER  TO  MARIA  M. 


183 


thou  art  in  any  respect  wanting,  if  thou  art  sometimes  even 
unjust,  what  does  that  amount  to  ?  I  enclose  thee  in  my  in- 
most heart,  and  then  we  love  only  the  more.  I  have  by  thy 
side  support,  and  home,  and  joy.  In  the  whole  wide  world 
there  is  no  one  who  understands  me  so  well  as  thou." 

I  dried  a  tear  and  said,  "  But  what  could  love  say  more 
than  this,  Serena,  the  highest  love  ?" 

"  The  highest  love  ?"  repeated  Serena,  and  a  mild  paleness 
chased  the  crimson  from  her  cheek,  "  that  which  it  would  say 
I  know  not,  but  I  imagine  what  it  must  feel.    It  is  a  higher 

throb  in  the  veins  of  friendship — it  is  the  heavenly  life  " 

Serena  paused,  her  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  a  glance  full  oi 
exaltation  completed  the  thought  which  the  tongue  was 
unable  to  speak. 

And  can  this  being,  thought  I,  be  in  reality  cold? 

"  And  will  you,  Serena,"  said  I,  after  a  few  moments, 
"  who  understand  the  highest  happiness  of  marriage  so  well, 
will  you  never  enjoy  it  ?    "Will  you  remain  single  ?" 

"  I  think  so,"  answered  she,  again  calm  ;  "but  yet  I  will 
love  thus  sincerely  my  parents,  you,  all  good  people,  and 
through  this  will  I  become  happy." 

"  My  dear  Serena,"  said  I,  "  that  is  all  very  well,  so  long 
as  your  heart  remains  free." 

A  thrill,  a  tremble  passed  through  the  fine  warm  hand 
which  I  held  in  mine.  It  was  as  if  a  heart-throb  had  thrilled 
through  Serena's  veins  ;  and  when  I  looked  at  her,  her  cheeks 
were  flushed  with  red,  and  she  breathed  quicker.  The 
moment  I  was  about  to  enquire  whence  came  this  sudden 
emotion,  I  made  a  painful  discovery.  I  heard  the  quick 
strokes  of  a  horse's  hoofs,  and  Bruno  dismounted  at  the  door. 
Serena  must  already  have  recognised  from  afar  the  sound  ot 
his  horse's  approach, 

"  Is  it  so  ?"  thought  I ;  and  a  light,  anxious  shudder 
passed,  Kke  an  unfortunate  foreboding,  through  body  and 
soul.  I  pressed  Serena's  hand,  and  felt  as  if  impelled  to 
embrace  her  and  clasp  her  more  warmly  to  me ;  but  this  I 
was  prevented  doing  by  Bruno's  noisy  entrance.  He  always 
comes  in  like  a  tempest.  But  he  now  shook  my  hand  so 
cordially,  and  threw  so  beautiful  a  glance  on  Serena,  that 
the  unpleasant  impression  which  I  experienced  the  moment 
before  somewhat  vanished. 


184 


THE  KEIGllEOUHa. 


Serena  sab  down  to  her  embroidery  frame  and  worlked 
industriously,  whilst  Bruno's  eyes  rested  on  the  fingers  and 
on  the  flowers  w^iich  seemed  to  spring  from  them. 

"  It  is  a  lovely  day,"  said  I  to  Bruno. 

"  Yes,"  replied  he,  in  his  melodious  voice ;  "  but  I  fciel  it 
to  be  so  now  for  the  first  time." 

We  were  silent  for  long  ;  and  I  was  glad  when  the  entrance 
of  Bear  converted  our  trio  into  a  quartet,  and  soon  after 
when  it  became  a  quintet  through  Stellan. 

But  this  did  not  seem  to  please  Bruno.  He  arose,  and 
after  he  had  paced  tlje  room  a  few  times,  he  sate  himself 
down  to  the  piano  at  the  other  end ;  and  then  softly,  like 
painfully  repressed  feelings,  sounded  forth  his  melodies  in 
their  wonderful  and  expressive  life.  Serena  seemed  to 
dream ;  she  attended  not  to  our  conversation,  nor,  in  fact, 
seemed  aware  of  it  till  we  began  to  speak  of  the  approach- 
ing golden  nuptials  of  her  grandparents. 

"  It  must  be  beautiful,"  said  I  with  warmth,  "  on  such  a 
day  to  glance  back  through  a  long  array  of  years,  and  dis- 
cover only  pure  recollections  and  good  deeds." 

Bruno  moved  ;  the  tones  ceased  ;  and  leaning  himself  over 
the  chair,  I  saw  that  he  listened. 

Cousin  Stellan  said  with  a  sigh,  "  Such  a  happiness  is  the 
lot  but  of  very  few  mortals  1" 

"  And  w^hy.  Cousin  Stellan ?"  began  I  again;  "because 
so  few  aim  at  it ;  so  few  learn  to  know  and  to  govern  them- 
selves." 

"  And  who  knows  himself?  who  can  do  it  ?"  asked  Bruno, 
rising  from  his  seat. 

"Hum!— — I  hope  many  can!"  answered  I,  somewhat 
startled  by  the  eager  interruption. 

"  Yes,  people  thiuk  so  !"  continued  Bnmo,  with  gloomy 
warmth.  "  People  think  they  know  themselves  because  they 
are  untried ;  because  they  have  never  examined  down  into 
the  depths  of  the  soul.  Our  connexions  make  the  path 
smooth  ;  life  goes  on  like  a  sunshiny  day ;  and  the  undisturbed 
spirit  which  no  storm  has  shaken,  no  night  darkened,  regards 
itself  as  firm  and  light.  The  blind !  The  lucky!  He  knows 
little  of  life.  But  who  that  has  proved  how  much  life  has 
of  temptation,  afilictions,  and  joys  ;  who  that  feels  his  soul 
shaken  by  passionsa  would  dare  to  say  that  he  knows  himself? 


TEANSISKA  TKEENEE  TO  MAEIA  M. 


185 


—would  dare  to  think  that  he  can  be  and  act  as  he  will  ? 
And  who  is  always  the  same?  Look  into  history  !  Do  not 
vice  and  meannesses  pollute  the  lives  of  the  greatest  men? 
Cannot  the  malefactor  accomplish  noble  actions?  Cannot 
man  in  one  hour  of  his  life  possess  in  his  heart  a  paradise  of 
love ;  and  in  another,  is  it  not  cold,  poor  and  desolate  ?  To 
know  himself! — Is  not  that  to  feel  himself  a  mass  of  con- 
tradiction of  all  possible  kinds  ?  as  a  ball  tossed  between 
heaven  and  hell,  with  which  angels  and  devils  disport  them- 
selves? Man  can  do  much  without  consistency.  He  can  do 
the  greatest,  the  noblest  actions  but  only  one  moment, — the 
next  moment  drags  him  downward!  To  know  himself  is 
but  to  know  his  own  weakness !" 

Bruno's  speech  had  rushed  onward  like  an  impetuous 
stream  which  suddenly  rises  above  the  shore,  and  breaks 
through  all  impediments ;  and  I  confess  that  I  myself  felt 
overwhelmed  by  it.  In  my  own  so  often  changeable  and 
sensitive  heart,  a  hundred  evidences  arose  to  the  truth  of 
Bruno's  sorrowful  doctrine.  I  felt  my  courage  sink,  but 
Serena  had  not  let  go  the  rudder.  She  fixed  her  clear  eyes 
on  Bruno's  countenance,  as  he  stood  opposite  to  her,  and 
when  he  ceased,  she  said  with  all  lier  peculiarly  sincere  and 
consolatory  gentleness : 

"  Certainly,  there  are  contradictions  and  inconsistencies 
in  all  men  ;  but  must  we  not  concede  that  these  diminish 
exactly  in  the  same  proportion  in  which  they  are  repressed?" 

"  It  should  be  so,"  said  Bruno,  slowly,  fixing  his  eyes  on 
her  heaven- serene  countenance. 

"  And  do  we  not  see,"  continued  she,  "  in  manifold  ex- 
amples, that  such  an  ennobling  really  takes  place  ?  Do  we 
not  know  that  fallen  human  beings  have  erected  themselves 
again? — That  the  severely  tried  have  come  out  of  the  contest 
as  victors  ?  Carries  not  every  man  in  his  breast  a  secret 
image  of  God,  which  can  enlighten  his  being,  and  which 
strives  to  exalt  him  to  a  higher  existence  ?" 

"  Yes,  it  is  so, — I  believe  it  ^"  said  Bruno,  mildly  though 
gloomily.    He  seated  himself  beside  Serena. 

"  Let  us  then  hope  for  all,"  continued  she,  with  heartfelt 
emotion.  "  The  way  may  be  more  difficult  for  some  natiirea 
than  for  others ;  but  He  who  is  bright  and  good,  and  eter- 


186 


THE  J^ElGHBOmS. 


nally  consistent,  will  sometime  let  his  voice  be  heard,  and 
will  raise  them  to  light  and  harmony." 

"  Amen!  amen  !  so  be  it!"  said  Bruno,  resting  his  fore- 
head on  his  hand.    "  May  all  restless  spirits  receive  peace !" 

"  Before  all  things  goes  a  good  will,"  thought  I ;  but  I 
would  not  raise  my  voice  after  Serena's  angel-tones. 

We  sate  long  silent,  and  each  one  busied  himself  with 
his  own  thoughts.  The  silence  at  length  dissolved  itself 
into  Mozart's  Don  Juan,  which  Stellan  proposed  ;  and  Bruno, 
who  played  it  to  us,  added  thereto  somewhat  of  his  own 
powerful  inspiration.  He  truly  captivated  me  this  evening. 
And  I  fancy  all  the  rest  were  as  much  charmed  as  I.  We 
scarcely  left  ourselves  time  to  eat,  but  continued  our  music 
almost  uninterruptedly  till  nearly  eleven. — Godlike  art ! — 
Glorious  Mozart ! 

We  were  all  become  through  him  such  good  friends  that 
when  Bruno  left  us  we  accompanied  him  part  way  home. 
The  air  was  mild,  and  the  starry  heaven  was  displayed  in 
streaming  glory  in  the  deep  midnight  twilight  of  August. 
Involuntarily  we  looked  up  in  quiet  admiration;  and  Stel- 
lan, who  for  the  last  several  days  has  seemed  to  feel  every- 
thing more  deeply,  Stellan  said,  "  Under  such  a  heaven  as 
this,  man  must,  for  the  first  time,  have  divined  of  his  own 
immortality !" 

"  Or  rather,  perhaps,"  objected  Bruno,  "  rightly  compre- 
hended his  own  mortality ;  his  dependence  on  outward  powers. 
Since  what  says  to  you  this  multitude  of  stars  ;  these  eternal 
wanderers,  on  eternally  the  same  paths,  who  pursue  their 
heavenly  career  as  silent  as  so  many  Trappists  ?  Strange  to 
our  feelings,  our  sufferings,  and  our  joys,  they  circle  in  eter- 
nal rest,  and  seem  to  answer  only  to  our  questions,  *  Poor 
Dust,  measure  thyself  with  Immortality,  and  be  mute  !' 
Immortal  life?  'No,  this  magnificent  thought  was  never 
created  to  us  out  of  those  unfeeling  heights.  The  starry 
heaven  rather  depresses  than  elevates  us !  But  the  world  of 
music !  Cannot  we  involve  ourselves  in  this,  and  divine  at 
least  for  a  moment  the  greatness  of  life,  and  conceive  of  its 
harmony  and  its  eternity?  Oh  (and  Bruno's  voice  here 
assumed  its  deep  melodious  tone),  oh,  if  there  be  one  great 
thought  in  this  u'uverse,  in  this  life  which  we  lead,  it  must 


FEANSISKA  WEENER  TO  MAEIA  M. 


187 


oe  expressed  in  sound  !  Listen  to  the  fugue  !  Listen  Low 
sphere  sings  to  sphere !  how  one  thought  answers  another ! 
now  all  things  are  manifold,  yet  one  thought  sustains  this 
manifold  whole  in  strength  and  beauty.  The  fugue  is  that 
*  Be  !'  of  the  Creator.  Thus  innumerable  worlds  repeat  that 
first  word  !  Listen  to  a  symphony  of  Beethoven  if  you  would 
have  an  interpretation  of  life  !  Listen  to  the  tones,  how  they 
live,  suffer,  love  ;  how  they  involve  one  another,  and  thus 
fashion  out  all  the  melodies  of  being  !  Listen,  at  last,  how 
the  dissonances  dissolve  themselves  into  harmonies  ;  how 
storm,  unrest,  affliction,  joy,  hate,  and  love,  hasten  forward 
like  the  rivers  of  the  earth  to  cast  themselves  into  the  ocean, 
where  all  is  dissolved  in  an  accord  full  of  harmony  and  peace  1" 

I  was  agitated  and  carried  away  by  Bruno's  expression, 
although  not  satisfied  with  his  words. 

"We  went  slowly  down  the  long  alley.  Cousin  Stellan  was 
talking  with  me  ;  and  I  fancy  that  all  at  once  I  must  have 
become  possessed  of  two  pair  of  eyes  and  two  pair  of  ears, 
for  while  I  listened  to  and  replied  to  him,  I  was  observant 
also  of  that  which  went  on  between  Bruno  and  Serena,  who 
walked  on  together  a  few  paces  before  us.  Bruno  gathered 
a  flower,  which  he  presented  to  Serena,  saying  in  a  low  voice, 
in  which  was  something  inexpressibly  mild  and  tender, 
"  Flowers  and  good  wishes  may  truly  be  given  at  the  same 
time !  Will  you  now  accept  them  from  me  ?  May  you 
always  be  as  peaceful  as  now !  JVTay  your  bitterest  cares 
resemble  this  night,  full  of  heavenly  lights !  May  you  be  as 
happy  as  you  are  good  and  pure!  But,"  and  here  his  voice 
sunk  deeper,  "  when  you  are  sustained  by  the  hands  of  good 
angels,  then  pray  for  those  who  have  no  peace — who  are  not 
60  pure  as  you, — pray  for  them,  and  pray  for  me!"  These 
last  words  I  imagined  rather  than  heard.  Bruno  bent  him- 
self at  that  moment  over  Serena's  hand,  and  Cousin  Stellan 
began  also,  as  I  suspect,  to  have  two  pair  of  eyes  and  two 
pair  of  ears. 

Serena's  face  was  turned  towards  Bruno,  but  I  could  not 

f)erceive  whether  she  answered  him.  Bruno's  horse  was  then 
ed  up  :  he  took  a  hasty  leave  of  us,  and  vanished  out  of  our 
sight. 

Bruno  !  One  can  neither  get  on  well  with  this  wonderful 
upirit,  nor  can  one  preserve  rest  with  him.    Yet  it  ig  precisely 


188 


THE  KEIGHBOtJRS. 


those  contradictions  in  him — this  quick  change  between  snow 
and  thaw — storm  and  rest,  night  and  sudden  day,  this  fulness 
of  life  and  warmth,  which  lends  him  at  the  same  moment  a 
restless  and  powerful  interest.  He  repels  and  attracts,  par- 
ticularly the  latter,  because  he  is  so  perfectly  natural. 

But  I  am  very  uneasy,  because  Serena  is  so  much  inclined 
towards  him.  What  can  the  white  lily  do  upon  the  stormy 
wave  ?  Can  Bruno  make  a  wife  happy  ?  Deserves  he  such 
a  wife  ?  Think,  if  he  himself  should  be  the  criminal  whose 
part  he  takes  !  What  is  he  ?  Wliat  will  he  do  ?  Thus  I 
question  myself — thus  I  question  Bear.  Bear  always  thinka 
the  best,  and  loves  his  brother  truly.  Still  he  cannot  per- 
fectly console  me.  I  have  anxious  forebodings.  The  heart 
which  is  heavy  from  these,  says  to  you  for  the  present — 
farewell,  my  good  Maria ! 

CHAPTER  IX. 

Eosenvik,  August  14th. 
Eight  days  have  passed  since  I  last  wrote  to  you,  my 
Maria.  I  forgot  that  I  ought  to  write  for  the  sake  of  the 
romance  which  I  have  undertaken.  But  the  necessity  to  live 
in  some  measure  with  you,  led  me  again  to  the  pen  and  to 
the  narrative. 

Cousin  SteUan  has  left  us.  He  must  have  been  more  and 
more  convinced  that  Serena  had  that  fault  which  he  consi- 
dered the  most  unpardonable  in  a  lady ;  a  strong  desire  for 
yawning  too  always  came  over  him  whenever  Bruno  came  to 
E-osenvik ;  and  he  received  letters  from  Stockholm,  on  ac- 
count of  important  affairs,  which  required  him  to  go  there ; 
and  journeyed  home,  accompanied  by  my  most  sincere  good 
wishes.  I  was  sorry  that  his  reform  was  stopped  exactly  in 
the  beginning. 

But  Serena  and  Bruno  have  occupied  me  so  much  that  I 
have  had  less  thought  for  others.  Bruno  has  made  our 
house  his.  Bear  sees  it  with  joy ;  and  I,  though  I  am  so 
uneasy,  cannot  be  indifferent  to  this  remarkable  man.  Se- 
rena lives,  as  it  were,  under  a  secret  enchantment,  and — what 
think  you  ?  I  have  never  ventured  to  interrupt  it  with  one 
word.  She  appears  so  happy,  so  joyT)us,  so  inwardly  secure, 
that  I  fear  to  say  one  word  that  might  disturb,  or  perhaps 


TEANSISKA  WEENEE  TO  HAEIA  M. 


189 


wake,  a  lialf-slumbering  feeling  into  consciousness.  Beyond 
this,  she  unfolds  into  more  beautiful  life ;  her  voice  has  devel- 
oped the  most  delicious  tones: — but  Bruno  is  quite  a  dif- 
ferent teacher  to  me — never  has  her  countenance,  her  whole 
being,  been  more  attractive  than  now.  And  Bruno  ?  He  is 
quiet,  but  one  can  see  that  he  is  altogether  absorbed  with 
her.  He  follows  her  wherever  she  goes ;  he  sits  by  her. 
Sometimes  he  fixes  upon  her  one  of  those  glances  which  is 
never  without  its  effect  in  the  eye  of  man — but  then  this 
glance  from  him!  He  dbes  not  please  me.  At  times  he 
makes  me  tremble. 

It  is  said  that  when  the  snake  will  make  the  lark  his  prey, 
he  raises  himself  and  fixes  his  glance  upon  her.  The  lark 
looks  into  the  eye  of  the  snake,  and  a  wonderful  and  horrible 
magic  seizes  upon  her.  Pluttering  on  her  pinions,  she  flies 
circling  round  and  round  and  sings ;  never  was  her  song  so 
ravishing,  nor  fluttered  her  wings  in  stronger  enjoyment  Oj. 
life — and  so  she  sings,  and  so  she  circles  around  the  snake 
ever  nearer  and  nearer,  till  she  sinks  into  his  jaws — and  is 
silent  for  ever ! 

O  Serena  !  Serena  ! 

In  fact  it  will  not  do  to  let  it  proceed  thus.  I  must  warn 
Serena.  She  must  know  that  which  we  know  of  this  dan- 
gerous man.    I  must  speak  with  Bear. 

Later 

See  here  our  conversation. 

"  But,  my  dear  Bear,  it  will  not  do ;  I  assure  thee  some- 
thing right  serious  will  come  of  it." 

"  Well,  and  what  then  ?  "What  can  one  wish  better  ?  I 
wish  that  it  was  so  serious  as  to  come  to  marriage.  I  believe 
truly  that  these  two  would  accord  extremely  well  for  each 
other." 

"  But  is  he  worthy  of  such  a  wife  ?  How  do  we  know  but 
that  he  may  have  done  something  much  worse  than  that 
which  we  know  he  did  in  his  youth  ?  There  is  something  in 
Bruno  that  prejudices  me  against  him.  I  do  not  trust  him. 
I  believe  at  times  that  he  is  capable  of  the  very  worst.  Only 
think  if  he  be  a  murderer !  " 

"  My  dear  Transiska,"  said  Bear  almost  angry,  why  dost 
fchou  let  thy  imagination  run  away  with  thee  so  ?  Why, 


190 


THE  NEIGHBOUES. 


without  any  occasion,  canst  thou  think  thus  of  any  fellow- 
creature  ?    Thou  art  unreasonable  now,  Eransiska 

Pardon  me,  angel,  but  thou — art  not  thou  too  mild  ?  No 
occasion  ?    We  know  very  well  that  he  has  stolen.'* 

"And  didst  thou  never  steal — as  a  child?"  I  paused, — 
bethought  me,  blushed,  and  was  silent.  Out  of  my  innocent 
childish  years  rose,  spectre-like,  a  host  of  biscuits,  confec- 
tions, pieces  of  ribbon,  and  such  like,  as  witnesses  against 
me.  At  length  I  said,  "  Yes,  Bear,  I  have  stolen — I  confess 
it — ^but  at  fifteen  I  stole  no  longer." 

"  Eemember,"  remonstrated  he,  "the  circumstances  under 
which  Bruno  grew  up.  Most  children  fail  a  little;  but  a 
good  education,  a  discreet  management,  stifles  that  danger- 
ous yet  natural  impulse  to  appropriate  that  to  oneself  for 
which  one  has  desire.  Bruno  was  unskilfully  trained,  and 
must  be  judged  accordingly.  At  all  events  the  last  lines  he 
wrote  to  me  testify  that  he  acknowledged  his  fault  and  would 
abandon  it.  And  undoubtedly  the  fearful  lesson  he  had  at 
the  last  scene  with  his  mother  would  deter  him  for  ever  from 
this  course. 

I  sighed  and  said,  "At  all  events  we  have  seen  that  he 
can  shoot  down  that  which  refuses  to  obey  him.  He  who 
can  act  so  barbarously  towards  a  horse,  can  do  so  also  to- 
wards men." 

"  There  is  a  great  difference,  Eanny  !  Nevertheless  I  wiU 
on  no  account  excuse  Bruno's  error.  Yes,  he  is  wild  ;  and  at 
times  ferocious  and  violent.  He  is  still  as  in  his  youth — 
capricious,  unsteady,  but  not  bad.  On  the  contrary,  his  heart 
is  warm,  and  I  am  convinced  that  he  will  become  good.  It 
is  precisely  an  angel  like  Serena  which  can  obtain  influence 
over  him,  and  make  him  good  and  reasonable,  at  the  same 
time  that  she  makes  him  happy." 

"  My  good  Bear,  thou  talkest  very  beautifully,  but  yet  I 
am  not  satisfied.  Should  we  not  at  least  acquaint  Serena 
with  the  person  to  whom  she  so  blindly  resigns  herself! 
Should  she  not  know  all  that  we  know  of  his  youth  and  his 
after-adventures !" 

"  Why  ?  and  to  what  purpose  ?  If  she  loves  him  this  will 
not  withdraw  her  from  him.  But  as  his  wife  it  might  be 
painful  for  her  to  know  that  Bruno  had  deserved  the  con- 
tempt of  his  nearest  connexions-    At  least,  none  but  Bruno 


BBtJNO  M.  TO  ANTONIO  PE  E. 


191 


himself  should  put  her  in  possession  of  this  knowledge.  Eye 
to  eye,  heart  to  heart,  can  much  be  said,  and  much  be  re- 
conciled." 

"  Ah !  if  one  only  knew  something  more  of  Brimo's  later 
life  1"  sighed  1. 

"  I  have  heard  his  relation,  I  have,  indeed,  seen  his  papers. 
All  is  clear  and  straightforward.  I  have  seen  letters  from 
many  distinguished  men  to  him.  They  speak  perfectly  to 
his  advantage.  Beyond  this — even  if  Bruno  should  have 
erred — do  we  not  see  clearly  in  him  the  desire  after  good  ? 
Our  Lord  would  not  reject  him — and  thou  Eanny  wouldst 
doit?" 

"  Ah  no,  no,  Bear !    But  Serena  " 

"  Think  on  Bruno's  warm  heart,"  interrupted  he,  "  on  his 

great  talents — yes,  his  genius,  and  then  on  his  great 

wealth !    Why  should  not  Serena  be  happy  with  him  ?" 

"  Ah,  Bear,"  returned  I,  "that  which  makes  a  wife  happy 
— that  which  beautifies  home,  is  not  the  wealth  of  a  husband 
— not  his  great  talents — not  the  fire  of  his  soul, — these  may 
even  destroy  the  peace  of  home.  No,  the  happiness  of  the 
wife  is  that  the  husband  have  integrity ;  that  he  be  good, 
rational,  reasonable,  and  regular — ^like  thee,  Bear !" 

"We  contended  no  more. 


CHAPTEE  X. 

TEAGMENT  OF  A  LETTER  EKOM  BETINO  M  

TO  ANTONIO  DE  E  . 

 I  approached  her  without  purpose.     I  would 

merely  contemplate  the  beauty  of  her  countenance;  the 
glory  of  innocence,  which  rested  upon  it  like  a  clear  heaven. 
I  would  merely  listen  to  her  voice,  her  words ;  observe  all 
;  her  living  grace.    What  the  freshness  of  waves,  what  the 
I  tune  of  a  song,  what  the  endearments  of  my  mother  had  been 
:  to  me,  that  was  to  me  her  presence.    I  felt  happy  as  I  heard 
her  voice ;  at  her  glance  every  painfid  feeling,  every  unholy 
thought,  withdrew  ; — I  was  better. 

Neither  she  nor  I,  but  the  Power  which  planted  volcanic 
fire  in  the  depths  of  my  beiog,  is  the  cause  that  this  feeling 
suddenly  grew  into  a  devouriiu;  flame.    But  I  love  her  not 


192 


THE  NETGHBOXTKtSi. 


as  I  formerly  loved  her.  'No  Serena  stood  yet  on  my  nightly 
way ; — she  is  my  first  pure  love.  And  precisely  on  that 
account,  exactly  because  she  is  totally  dissimilar  to  all  other 
women  whom  I  have  hitherto  sought  and  won,  is  it  that 
Serena  is  to  me  so  bewitching.  Her  gentle  and  maidenly 
worth,  which  stamps  her  being  and  actions  with  so  beautiful 
a  propriety,  binds  me  to  her  with  the  force  of  magic.  Exactly 
because  she  is  so  destitute  of  everything  like  coquetry,  am  I 
ready  to  kneel  before  her,  and  to  worship  her.  My  eyes  rest 
with  an  indescribable  rapture  on  this  mouth,  which  no  heart- 
less kiss  has  desecrated,  no  word  of  scorn  or  of  falsehood  has 
polluted.  Purity, — a  word  which  I  have,  too  late,  learned  to 
understand, — purity  is  the  heaven  which  beams  upon  her 
brow  ;  the  spirit  which  emanates  from  her ;  and  for  the  sake 

of  her  purity  I  worship  her — I  who  yes,  I  can  do  it,  and 

that  is  my  salvation.  What  is  beautiful,  what  is  god-like, 
which  at  the  same  time  is  not  pure  ?  Light,  virtue,  heaven ! — 
eternal  essences  of  purity!  Dark  was  my  life,  but  in  her  I 
love  you  !  Serena  stands  there,  and  with  her  all  the  angels  of 
life ;  they  whom  I  have  dishonoured  and  despised  ; — quiet 
virtues,  peace,  domestic  life,  —  holy  ties  which  I  have  re- 
nounced and  abused ;  how  transport ingly  do  they  beckon  me 
back,  through  her ! 

Tell  me  not  that  it  is  too  late.  I  have  rioted  with  the 
wild  forms  of  life's  enchantment.  Like  Eaust,  I  danced  with 
the  witches  of  the  Blocksberg :  and  the  person  of  one  whom  1 
embraced  was  ashes  ;  and  out  of  the  mouth  of  another  whom 
I  kissed  sprang  a  disgusting  reptile ;  a  third  changed  herself 
in  my  arms  into  a  serpent:  and  so  I  stood  on  the  steep 
declivity  of  my  way,  and  looked  round,  and  all  behind  me 
was  terrible  and  dark.  The  same  restless  fire,  the  same 
thirst,  still  raged  within  me ;  but  I  sought  other  springs.  I 
was  strong,  and  full  of  life.  In  the  battle,  in  contest  with  the 
raging  elements,  I  felt  within  me  a  higher  power,  a  mightier 
existence, — ^but  aU  was  so  empty,  empty,  empty!  I  con- 
cei^^ed  not  that  the  fulness  of  life  could  be  found  in  any 
human  form.  A  human  bosom, — great,  full  of  love  as  the 
heavens,  true,  gentle,  and  pure — Oh  !  there  is  a  world  in 
which  to  live !  perfect,  beautiful,  and  eternal.  There  is  the 
fire  of  passion,  purified  but  not  quenched ;  tlie  unquiet  ia 
made  quiet ;  the  strength  is  exhalted  and  eoutirmei 


BBIINO  M.  TO  ANTONIO  DE  E. 


193 


If  a  spouse  with  a  soul  so  great  and  lovely  wandered  by 
my  side ;  if  i\.^r  heavenly  spirit  passed  every  hour  of  the 
day,  like  a  T<?»rnal  breeze  over  my  soul ;  if  she  infused  her 
pure  and  harnumious  life  into  all  that  surrounds  niy  daily 
path ;  if  I  could  lean  on  her  as — O  my  Grod !  I  cannot  say,  as 
on  a  mother's  breast,  since  that  has  spurned  me  from  it, — 
but  could  I  press  a  wife  to  my  bosom  in  a  fast  and  everlasting 
embrace,  and  say  from  the  depths  of  my  heart,  "  Thou  art  an 
angel,  and  thou  art  mine!"  Oh!  believest  thou  not  that 
earlier  sins  could  be  forgiven,  that  bitter  memories  could  be 
expunged,  that  the  wavering  soul  could  become  established 
in  a  higher  love  ? — believest  thou  not  that  on  the  blasted 
ground  a  new  paradise  might  yet  bloom  ? 

I  look  on  Serena,  and  I  must  believe  it  possible.  I  have 
said  to  myself,  "  She  must  become  mine,  if  I  am  to  find  peace 
on  the  earth  !"  But  she — the  good,  the  pure,  the  amiable, 
will  she  be  able  to  love  me  ? — will  she  be  willing  to  unite  her 
fate  with  mine  ?  And  they  in  whose  power  lies  her  disposal ; 
they  who  above  all  things  estimate  purity  of  character,  social 
and  domestic  virtues,  will  these  bestow  her,  the  most  beauti- 
ful and  most  precious  of  their  possessions,  on  a  man  whose 
reputation  from  very  childhood  has  been  stained, — whose  life 
has  been  covered  with  darkness  ? 

I  hear  thee  utter  these  questions,  and  this  is  my  answer. 

There  is  something  in  me, — call  it  pride,  presumption, 
what  thou  wilt, — but  I  know  there  is  something  in  me 
which  no  one  so  readily  withstands ;  a  power,  a  will  which 
breaks  iron  ;  a  fire  which  can  devour  everything  before  it,  in 
order  to  burn  in  the  air,  for  which  it  yearns.  I  have  proved 
it  often,  and  no  one  has  been  able  to  resist  it  but  my  mother ; 
— for  my  blood  also  runs  in  her  veins, — and  yet,  mother,  we 
have  not  fougbt  out  the  contest  between  us. 

I  have  seen  my  mother !  She  knew  me  not  again,  and  I 
scarcely  knew  her.  She  was  a  beautiful  woman.  She  is 
much  changed  ;  and  it  would  seem  not  simply  through  age.  I 
sought  opportunity  to  see  her — I  must  see  her ;  but  as  I  stood 
there  as  a  stranger  before  her — as  I  heard  again  the  well- 
known  voice — I  could  not  support  it.  I  know  not  when  I 
shall  discover  myself.  She  is  not  yet  prepared  for  it,  nor  I 
either.  I  was  desperately  and  painfully  agitated  in  her 
presence ;  and  therefore  I  flee  it — till  some  farther  time.  I 

K 


194 


THE  KEIGHBOTJES. 


love  and  fear,  I  languisli  and  fly.  Thus  I  stood  in  agonising 
strife  with  myself,  when  Serena  entered.  I  placed  myself  by 
her  side,  and  from  this  moment  I  became  calmer.  A  hope, 
a  ray  of  light  shone  forth.    If  even  my  mother — my  mother 

would  not  forgive  Cain  had  perpetrated  a  heavier 

crime  than  I,  on  him  rested  the  curse  of  his  mother,  and  yet 
— into  the  desert  into  which  he  wandered  followed  him  his 
wife  !    An  angel  of  reconciliation  went  with  him. 

Serena !  Serena  !  if  I  did  not  love  thee  so  devotedly,  I  could 
pity  thee  ;  for  I  feel  that  it  is  not  in  vain  that  I  have  fixed 
my  gaze  upon  thee.  But  I  will  love  thee  as  never  woman 
has  yet  been  loved.  I  will  surround  thee  with  all  the  charms 
of  life ;  every  day  shalt  thou  make  people  happy,  and  thy 
noble  heart  shall  live  on  blessings.  Hagar  must  submit  her- 
self to  her  fate.  It  is  long  since  she  ceased  to  make  any 
claims  on  my  affections,  and  that  she  must  continue  to  do, 
even  did  we  remain  together.  She  must  and  will  bear  to  see 
me  happy  with  another.  She  knows  me — she  will  not  dare 
....  Curse  on  her !  Should  she  breathe  a  poison  breath 
on  thee,  who  ....  But  I  am  wild  if  I  think  on  this  woman, 
and  I  will  not.  Well,  I  will  be  affectionate — I  will  be  as 
Serena  wills.  There  are  yet  stores  of  the  good  and  the  tender 
in  me ;  the  spring  is  not  irremediably  defiled  ;  it  requires 
nothing  so  much  as  to  be  purified — ^but  an  angel  must 
descend  into  the  waters. 

But  can  an  angel  indeed  approach  him  whom  the  curse 
of  a  mother  ....  My  mother !  if  she  should  not  pardon ! 
Ah,  thought  of  destruction !  vulture  which  gnaws  at  my 
heart — away !  away ! 

All  will  speedily  be  spoken  out  and  decided,  for  my  soul 
yearns  after  certainty.  It  were  perhaps  wiser  to  postpone  it, 
to  await  a  fitting  time  ;  but  I  cannot,  and  I  will  not.  I  take 
my  fortune  always  by  storm — may  it  be  so  now ! 

TRAI^SISKA  WERNER  TO  MARIA  M  . 

Rosenvik,  August  17tn. 
Yesterday  was  a  wonderful,  rich,  merry,  and  yet  unplea- 
sant day.    We  spent  it  at  Eamm.    We  were  some  days 
before  invited  thither,  with  many  of  our  neighbours.  Ma 
chere  mere  was  also  invited,  but  excused  herself,  on  the  plea 


FRANSISKA  WEENEH  TO  AIARIA  M. 


195 


that  for  many  years  she  has  accepted  no  invitations,  and  now 
could  mako  no  exceptions.  Serena  had  spent  the  preceding 
day  with  her  grandparents,  and  was  to  accompany  them  to 
Eamra,  whither  they  were  pressingly  invited  by  Bruno,  who, 
by  the  new  school,  and  through  many  other  circumstances, 
had  now  placed  himself  in  a  close  connexion  with  the  worthy 
old  Dahl. 

At  our  arrival  we  found  all  without  unchanged  :  the  trees 
grew  as  before,  wild  and  thick,  around  the  blackened  walls. 
Bruno  met  us  on  the  steps,  and  received  us  with  a  serious 
friendliness.  There  was  something  peculiarly  prepossessing 
in  his  countenance.  Bear  was  excited  and  pale,  as  he  shook 
his  brother's  hand  ;  none  of  us  said  anything,  and  Bruno 
conducted  me  in  silence  into  the  house,  where  the  splendour 
of  the  furniture  struck  me  with  amazement.  But  my  dear 
Serena  soon  engrossed  all  my  attention.  I  thought  I  had 
never  seen  her  so  beautiful.  That  light  blue  miuslin  dress, 
that  tulle  handkerchief  which  she  had  thrown  over  her  snowy 
shoulders,  all  became  her  so  well ;  and  her  innocent  coun- 
tenance beamed  with  health  and  gaiety.  I  and  Eosenvik, 
thought  I  with  pleasure,  have  both  contributed  to  these 
roses.  The  Patriarchs,  too,  said  many  kind  words  to  me  on 
the  same  score. 

The  guests  assembled.  Lagman  Hok  and  Miss  Hellevi 
Husgafvel  came  together  in  the  disobligeant.  Exactly  as  we 
were  about  to  seat  ourselves  at  table,  the  noise  of  an  arrival 
was  heard  in  the  court ;  and  to  my  amazement  I  beheld  a 
cabriolet  drawn  by  an  OEland  pony,  and  driven  by  a  young 
maiden,  who  with  her  little  equipage  made  a  grand  circle 
round  the  court,  cracked  loudly  the  whip,  and  drew  up 
before  the  door. 

"Ha!  ha!  ha!  that  is  Mally,  my  little  Mally!"  laughed 
out  the  Major,  who  stood  at  the  window  with  me.  "  Yes, 
yes,  she  cuts  a  dash  in  the  world.  She  has  taste  in  horses. 
People  should  let  children  follow  their  own  propensities, 
Madame  "Werner ;  that  fills  them  full  of  health  and  activity. 
It  does  no  good,  compulsion.  They  will  become  sober  soon 
enough.    I  know  that  from  myself." 

Mally  now  made  her  entrance ;  her  hair  all  flying  wild ; 
her  gait  at  once  waggish  and  awkward.  Madame  von  P. 
cast  a  look  on  her  and  then  on  her  own  daughters,  which 

k2 


19G 


THF  NETGHBOUES 


seemed  to  say — "  God  be  praised !  my  daughters  have  re- 
ceived education  and  accomplishment."  My  good  Brita  Kajsa, 
though  a  lover  of  the  natural,  blushed  at  the  entrance  of  her 
daughter,  and  looked  disconcerted. 

"  What  a  figure  you  are !"  said  she,  as  she  busied  herself 
to  bring  her  clothes  and  hair  into  some  degree  of  order. 

"  Eh  !  eh !  mamma,  how  you  hurt  me,"  cried  Mally,  wincing 
and  grinning. 

Bruno  conducted  Madame  Dahl  to  table,  the  rest  followed 
in  couples — the  dinner  was  superb.  Bruno  will  destroy  the 
simple  habit  of  the  country  with  such  examples  of  luxury.  I 
shall  tell  him  this.  But  he  was  a  most  agreeable  host.  His 
attention  to  the  old  Dahls  had  something  reverential  and 
nearly  filial  in  it,  which  became  him  well ;  and  Serena  ap- 
peared to  observe  it  with  joy,  From  the  dining-room  Bruno 
conducted  us  down  into  the  garden,  where  two  ample  tents 
were  pitched.  There  too  the  accommodation  of  the  Patri- 
archs appeared  to  have  been  most  solicitously  provided  for. 
In  one  of  the  tents  were  two  commodious  easy-chairs  for 
them,  and  the  ground  was  covered  with  the  costliest  matting. 
Before  this  tent  a  fountain  threw  into  the  air  its  fresh  and 
splashing  stream.  Orange-trees,  at  once  full  of  fruit  and 
flower,  stood  at  a  certain  distance  round,  and  every  little 
breath  of  air  bore  to  us  their  balsamic  fragrance.  Iwas  charmed 
with  the  whole  of  this  arrangement,  which  the  unusual  heat 
of  the  day  made  still  more  agreeable.  My  imagination  trans- 
ported me  into  an  ideal  world  ;  I  shaped  to  myself  a  nomadic 
life  in  such  scenery;  and  shepherdesses  like  Serena,  and 

Patriarchs,  and  tents,  and  orange-groves,  and  but  in  this 

moment  burst  in  Madame  von  P.,  exclaiming :  "  Ah !  how 
charming  is  all  this,  my  dear  Madame  Werner !  Count  L. 
and  we  had  just  such  tents  at  Grustafsberg.  One  day  they 
were  with  us,  and  the  other  day  we  were  with  them,  tout 
fmnilierement.  It  was  uncommonly  gay.  It  is  too  charming ! 
The  L.'s  and  we  had  very  little  intercourse  with  the  other 
society  there  ;  we  were  sufficient  of  ourselves.  Oh  !  I  should 
so  like  to  know  how  our  common  friend  the  dear  Baroness  H. 
is  ;  a  delightful  person !  She  and  I  found  so  much  amuse- 
ment together.  Of  course,  we  have  seen  much  of  the  great 
world,  and  have  a  multitude  of  common  acquaintance." 

"  It  is  very  hot  here,"  said  I.    It  was  agreeably  cool  in 


TEAI^SISBIA  WEE^^:3l  TO  MARIA  M. 


197 


the  tent,  but  Madame  von  P.'s  discourse  made  it  feel  to  me 
quite  sultry.  I  arose  ;  my  persecutor  did  the  same.  Imme- 
diately outside  of  the  tent  vre  met  Bruno.  Madame  von  P. 
rushed  up  to  him,  "  Ah,  mon  cher  Monsieur  Eomilly,  c'est 
charmant,  c'est  charmant!  your  park  is  heavenly.  What 
tints  on  these  trees !  What  groups  !  What  perspective ! 
See  there,  my  best  Madame  Werner, — there,  through  the 
arch  of  the  bridge,  what  effect !  IN^ay,  you  must  stoop  yet  a 
little  more,  yet  a  little, — under  this  bough  here — is  it  not 
heavenly  ?  (I  was  near  breaking  my  neck.)  What  ensemble^ 
what  effect !"  Bruno  made  a  solemn  bow  to  Madame  von  P., 
and  retired  into  the  tent.  I  thought,  "  Oh !  that  this  affec- 
tation of  some  people  should  be  able  even  to  destroy  the 
enjoyment  of  nature  for  others."  Madame  von  P.'s  tints 
and  effect  had  spoiled  to  me  the  whole  prospect.  At  this 
moment  I  heard  a  loud  cry ;  and  as  I  hurried  towards  the 
part  whence  it  came,  there  saw  I  the  Adamites,  who  had  rent 
fruit  and  flowers  from  the  orange-trees,  and  now  set  them- 
selves in  battle  array  to  resist  some  young  gentlemen  who 
attempted  to  restrain  their  depredation. 

There  we  have  the  state  of  nature,"  thought  I  with  a 
sigh.  Brita  Kajsa  came  forth,  dealt  out  blows  and  cuffs 
amongst  her  brood ;  and,  for  this  time,  order  was  restored, 
and  we  could  enjoy  oiu"  coffee  and  the  accompanying  delicacies 
in  peace. 

After  a  while  two  open  carriages  drove  up,  and  Bruno 
proposed  to  the  company  an  excursion  in  the  park.  The 
carriages  were  for  the  elder  portion,  the  younger  must  go  on 
foot.  Bruno  offered  Serena  his  arm ;  the  two  Dahls,  Bear 
and  I,  entered  one  carriage.  The  Major's  lady,  who  was  in 
the  other  with  Madame  von  P.,  wished  to  have  her  children 
with  them,  but  the  Adamites  vociferously  refused,  and  were 
therefore  entrusted  during  the  walk  to  the  care  of  their  sister 
MaUy. 

We  proceeded :  the  weather  was  beautiful,  and  I  should 
have  enjoyed  the  drive  extrem.ely,  could  I  only  have  ceased 
to  think  of  Bruno  and  Serena.  "  Will  he  say  anything  to 
her  ?"  thought  I ;  "  and  what  wiU  he  say  ?"  The  Patriarchs 
took  their  siesta  in  the  comfortably  rocking  carriage  ;  Bear 
sate  silent  and  sunk  in  thought ;  and  so  we  drove  for  perhaps 
an  hour  and  half. 


198 


THE  NEIGHBOXTBS. 


As  we  returned  we  saw  the  walkers  also  retttming  in  dif- 
ferent groups.  As  Serena,  accompanied  by  Bruno,  entered 
the  drawing-room,  I  became  immediately  uneasy,  for  I  saw 
that  something  had  occurred.  She  was  pale  and  excited ; 
Bruno's  countenance,  on  the  contrary,  was  full  of  beaming 
life.  After  he  had  greeted  us,  and  had  inquired  of  the  Patri- 
archs whether  they  had  enjoyed  their  drive,  whether  they  had 
found  the  carriage  sufficiently  easy,  etc.,  he  sate  down  to  the 
organ,  and  let  loose  the  tones  of  that  mighty  instrument.  It 
was  the  same  power,  the  same  fire,  the  same  deep  inspiration, 
which  transported  me  on  the  former  evening  on  the  lake  ;  and 
now,  as  then,  seized  on  my  innermost  soul.  The  Misses 
von  P.  walked  arm-in-arm  in  the  next  room,  gossiping  and 
laughing  incessantly  with  some  gentlemen,  and  were  evi- 
dently only  occupied  with  themselves.  Madame  von  P.  had 
fallen  into  a  desperate  talk  with  Jane  Marie  ;  and  I  could 
not  comprehend  how  Jane  Marie,  who  is,  nevertheless,  musi- 
cal, could  during  such  music  sit  and  gossip  about — Heaven 
knows  what !  It  was  quite  a  matter  of  course  that  Miss 
Husgafvel,  who  has  no  taste  for  music,  should  be  engaged 
with  Lagman  Hok  looking  at  some  beautiful  paintings.  But 
Bruno  was  not  altogether  destitute  of  devoted  listeners. 
Amongst  these  were  Bear,  the  Patriarchs,  and  Serena,  who 
now  sat  between  them.  I  myself  sate  so  that  I  could  observe 
Bruno's  countenance.  It  was  in  this  moment  remarkable, 
strong,  full  of  courage,  suffering,  and  love.  That  which  was 
delineated  on  his  features  he  poured  forth  also  in  a  fantasia, 
in  which  every  feeling,  power,  passion,  and  enjoyment  seemed 
to  contend  together,  and  the  conflict  rose  to  the  very  pitch  of 
despair ;  then  making  a  wonderful  and  bold  transition,  and 
in  tones  which  reminded  you  of  the  words—"  Let  there  be 
light!"  he  fell  into  a  noble  air  from  the  "  Creation"  ' of 
Haydn  ;  in  which  the  words,  as  well  as  the  music,  expressed 
how  the  elements  arrayed  themselves  under  the  eye  of  the 
Almighty.  I  glanced  at  Serena.  Deep  emotion,  but  at  the 
same  time  a  quiet  glory,  illumined  her  beautiful  countenance. 
Ah !  it  is  in  such  moments  that  we  understand  the  fulness  ol 
life — that  Heaven  opens  upon  our  spirit, — it  ascends  thither  on 
the  wings  of  sound,  embraces  all  the  angels  of  Ufe,  compre- 
liends  all  the  love  of  God,  all  the  beauty  of  creation,  and  is 
ready  to  expire  with  happiness. 


FBAIfSISKA  WEEITEE  TO  ^EIA  M. 


199 


Bnino's  voice  is  not,  properly  speaking,  beautiful ;  but  it 
ifl  powerful,  manly,  and  expressive.  It  is  the  voice  of  a 
mighty  spirit.  "  0  Bruno  !"  thought  I ;  "  hast  thou  received 
such  tine  endowments  only  to  abuse  them  ?  Ait  thou  able 
to  sing  of  the  pure  majesty  of  existence,  and  canst  not  esta- 
blish it  in  thy  soul,  in  thy  life  ?" 

The  music  ceased.  Bruno's  listeners  sate  silent  with  tears 
in  their  eyes ;  even  Miss  Adele  von  P.  stood  in  the  doorway 
astonished,  and  as  it  were  fixed  to  the  spot  by  enchantment. 
Then  came  the  unlucky  Madame  von  P.,  and  overwhelmed 
Bruno  with  remarks  on  art,  and  on  ancient  and  modern  com- 
posers, "  Weber,"  said  she,  "  is  whimsical;  Eossini  poor  in 
melody  ;  Meyerbeer  excels  both, — he  is,  so  to  say,  '  le  prince 
de  la  musique.'  "  It  was  in  another  way  that  old  Madame 
Dahl  expressed  her  satisfaction.  She  pressed  Bruno's  hand, 
and  said  warmly,  Ton  have  made  the  old  young  again.  It 
is  very,  very  long  since  I  have  enjoyed  such  a  pleasure  ;  and 
I  thank  you  from  my  h^art." 

"  You  make  me  happy,"  said  Bruno,  kissed  her  hand  with 
deep  respect,  and  seated  himself  near  her. 

A  great  commotion  was  now  heard  without  in  the  hall.  It 
proceeded  from  the  Adamites,  who  were  just  returned  from 
the  wood,  dirty  and  torn ;  but  full  of  fresh  life  and  spirit. 
They  had  started  some  roes,  killed  a  snake,  and  captured  a 
squirrel,  which  they  now  brought  in  in  triumph.  Brita 
Kajsa  endeavoured  to  moderate  their  vociferous  joy,  but  it 
succeeded  only  to  a  certain  extent  with  Mally.  The  two 
younger  children  sprang  screaming  about,  and  clambered 
with  their  dirty  feet  on  the  chairs  and  sofas — oh,  that  Ma 
chere  mere  could  but  have  seen  it ! — while  they  sought  to 
amuse  themselves  with  now  letting  that  unfortunate  squirrel 
loose,  and  now  catching  it  again.  Their  parents  at  length 
troubled  themselves  no  further  about  their  wild  conduct ;  but 
Serena  and  I  gave  each  other  a  sign,  and  mixed  ourselves  in 
the  affair.  The  result  was  that  I  set  the  squirrel  at  liberty  ; 
while  Serena,  partly  by  serious  endeavour,  and  partly  by 
sportiveness,  drew  the  children  to  her,  and  succeeded  in 
keeping  them  still  by  cutting  them  in  paper  a  variety  of  little 
figures  and  equipages,  and  thus  art  exhibited  her  ability  to 
tame  rude  nature. 

The  lively  Miss  Hellevi,  who  is  always  desirous  to  keep 


200 


THE  NElGilEOUllS. 


people  in  motion,  proposed  social  amusements ;  and  we  com- 
menced a  game  of  forfeits,  and  were  quickly  all  alive.  A 
great  number  of  forfeits  had  to  be  redeemed ;  *  and  Miss 
Hellevi  shone  wonderfully  in  witty  and  merry  propositions. 
It  was  indescribably  amusing  that  Bear  had  tt)  dance.  I 
never  laughed  so  immoderately.  You  should  really  have  seen 
his  comic  gravity  and  his  strange  grimaces. 

"  What  shall  that  person  do  to  whom  this  belongs  ?" 

"He  shall  tell  a  little  story,"  said  Miss  Hellevi. 

The  forfeit  was  mine ;  and  without  consideration  I  began 
to  relate  that  which  presented  itself  first  to  my  mind.  It 
was  this  little  legend.  "  Two  little  boys  went  down,  on  a 
holiday  evening,  to  the  river  near  their  father's  house. 
There  they  heard  beautiful  music,  and  saw  the  Neck,  that 
sat  upon  the  azure  wave  in  the  shade  of  the  alders,  and 
played  on  the  harp,  and  sang  with  all  his  heart.  When  the 
boys  had  listened  a  good  while  to  the  music,  they  called  out, 
'  Of  what  use  is  it,  Neck,  that  thou  canst  play  so  beautifully? 
Thou  canst  never  be  happy  for  all  that.'  As  the  Neck 
beard  these  words,  he  threw  away  the  harp,  and  sank  into  the 
depths  of  the  water." 

Here  I  paused,  for  I  had  accidentally  looked  at  Bruno,  and 
a  glance  of  his  eye  fell  upon  me,  so  piercing,  dark,  and  full  of 
trouble,  that  it  struck  me  dumb.  It  was  some  seconds  before 
I  could  collect  myself  sufficiently  to  proceed : — "  "When  the 
boys  returned  home  they  related  the  occurrence  to  their 
father.  He  reproved  them  for  having  spoken  too  severely 
to  the  Neck,  and  told  them  that  they  were  wrong,  for  even 
the  Neck  may  one  day  be  saved.  The  next  evening  the  boys 
went  again  down  to  the  river.  They  heard  now  no  sweet 
music,  but  they  saw  the  Neck,  which  sate  on  the  water  in  the 
shade  of  the  alder,  and  wept.  And  they  called  to  it,  and 
said — '  Don't  weep.  Neck,  for  our  father  says  that  thou  also 
wilt  be  saved  one  day.'  Then  the  Neck  wept  no  more,  but 
took  his  harp  again  and  played,  and  sung  most  gloriously  till 
deep  in  the  night." 

I  glanced  again  at  Bruno.  He  was  pale.  His  wonderful 
eyes  were  fixed  stedfastly  upon  me,  as  before,  but  now  they 
were  filled  with  tears. 

"  Madame  Werner  shall  have  her  forfeit  again,  and  with 
Qanks  and  praise  for  her  charming  legend,"  said  Miss 


rBA>'SISKA  AVEE>^EE  TO  MARIA  M. 


201 


Helled.  Other  forfeits  followed,  and  were  redeemed  by 
various  jokes  and  whims.  One  came  whose  owner  waa 
nidged  to  declaim  something  in  prose  or  Terse.  It  was  a 
silk  handkerchief,  and  Miss  Hellevi,  as  soon  as  she  saw  it, 
exclaimed — "  Belongs  not  this  to  our  host  ?" 

"Yes,"  cried  Mallj  Stalmark  with  a  loud  voice,  "but  I 
took  it,  because  I  myself  had  nothing  to  give  as  a  forfeit." 
Mally  makes  very  free  in  the  world,  thought  I. 

"  But  the  law  of  the  game  cannot  be  violated,"  said  Misa 
Husgafvel ;  "  the  owner  of  the  forfeit  must  redeem  it.  Mr. 
Komilly,  you  have  heard  the  judgment." 

"  But,"  said  he,  excusing  himself,  "I  was  not  in  the  game 
with  you." 

"  But  now  you  are,"  cried  zealously  Miss  Hellevi ;  and  as 
Madame  Dahl  joined  in  begging  that  Bruno  would  fulfil  the 
condition,  he  objected  no  farther.  He  arose,  made  no  prepa- 
ration, and  yet  in  a  moment  was  totally  changed,  as  he  stood 
there  high  and  still,  and  sunk,  as  it  were,  in  dark  and  profound 
self-questioning.  His  very  first  motion,  his  first  word,  went 
through  me  with  a  shudder.  The  scene  was  the  truth  itself. 
It  was  from  himself,  from  his  own  inward  cloud- wrapt  spirit, 
that  Bruno  pronounced  Hamlet's  celebrated  monologue — 

To  be,  or  not  to  be  ? — that  is  the  question. 

In  truth,  Bruno  is  no  ordinary  man,  is  endowed  vrith  no 
ordinary  talents  ;  and  yet,  as  a  man,  how  much  higher  stands 
my  Bear!  A  deep  silence  continued  in  the  room  after 
Bruno  had  ceased  to  speak ;  and  it  appeared  difficult  to  go 
back  to  the  sports  of  life  after  this  glance  into  its  dark 
depths. 

In  the  mean  time  it  was  growing  late ;  and  the  aged  Dahls, 
who  would  not  stay  to  supper,  took  leave  of  their  host, 
thanking  him  with  much  cordiality  for  so  pleasant  a  day. 
They  took  Serena,  too,  with  them,  and  promised  to  dehver 
her  duly  at  Eosenvik.  Bruno  accompanied  them  to  their 
carnage.  When  they  were  gone,  all  seemed  to  become 
wearisome  ;  and,  in  order  to  get  away  from  the  everlastingly- 
continuing  game  of  forfeits,  I  asked  Adele  von  P.,  who  sate  next 
me,  whether  she  would  not  take  a  turn  with  me  in  the  park. 
She  consented  with  warmth.  I  took  her  arm.,  and  we  went 
out.    The  evening  was  beautiful ;  the  twilight,  the  silence,  all 


202 


THE  NEIGHBOTJES. 


which  surrounded  us,  appeared  to  invite  us  to  that  pleasant 
and  yet  serious  thought  which  lights  and  the  life  of  society 
so  easily  dissipate. 

"  How  beautiful  is  it  here !"  said  I. 

"Tes,"  answered  Adele,  "since  here  are  solemnity  and 
truth." 

I  was  surprised  by  the  tone  in  which  these  words  were 
spoken,  and  glanced  at  my  companion.  Adele  von  P.  con- 
tinued with  emotion :  "  Madame  Werner,  you  have  taken  me, 
probably,  only  for  a  silly  and  superficial  person,  and  I  know 
now  that  I  have  been  such.  But  to-day  a  wonderful  feeling 
has  been  awakened  in  me.  I  feel  myself  humbled,  and  yet 
exalted.  I  would  willingly  begin  again  to  live, — to  learn.  I 
would  fain  be  able  to  return  to  nature  and  to  truth !" 

"  You  would  fain  abandon  artificiality  for  genuine  art ; — 
is  not  that  it  ?"  said  I.  "  You  would  lain  comprehend  and 
communicate  nature  and  life  in  their  deeper  sense  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  believe  so.  I  have  sometimes  suspected  that  my 
accomplishment  was  but  a  vain  pageantry;  but  now,  as  I 
comprehend  it  better, — now  so  much  time  is  lost,  Grod 
knows  whether  I  shall  ever  be  able  to  come  to  the  clear 
daylight!" 

"  Do  not  despair  of  it,"  replied  I,  zealously.  "  Hold  fast 
only  the  impression,  and  maintain  the  desire  which  to-day 
has  been  awakened."  At  this  moment  was  heard  in  the 
park  an  anxious,  uneasy  voice,  calling,  "  Adele !  Adele !" 
Adele  answered ;  and  Madame  von  P.  came  running  to  us, 
while  with  evident  alarm  she  exclaimed,  "  Adele !  my  little 
angel !  you  here  without  a  shawl,  and  with  your  cough  !  and 
the  dew,  and  the  night  air !  My  dear  child,  how  could  you 
do  so  ?  Come  in,  I  entreat  you.  But  you  must  not  go  thus 
thinly  clad.  You  must  take  my  shawl,  I  need  it  less  than 
you."  And  notwithstanding  the  reluctance  of  the  daughter, 
she  wrapped  her  in  her  own  shawl,  and  drew  it  carefully 
round  her  bosom.  Mother  and  daughter  thereon  kissed 
each  other  afiectionately,  and  hastened  together  into  the 
house. 

Had  I  always  found  Madame  von  P.  ridiculous  ?  I  forgot 
it  totally  at  this  moment.  I  saw  only  the  tender,  amiable 
mother  ;  and  I  thought — "  That  is  water  to  Bear's  mill."  If 
Madame  von  P,  only  krew  how  really  poetical  and  interest- 


FEAI^SISKA  TTEETTEE  TO  MARIA  M. 


203 


ing  she  then  was,  she  would  be  ashamed  of  endeavouring  to 
appear  so  by  other  means. 

As  I  had  thus  remained  behind  in  the  park,  and  as  I  was 
bIowIv  returning  towards  the  house,  I  encountered  the  young 
Eobert  Stalmark,  who  was  walking  to  and  fro,  and  talking  to 
himself.  He  otFered  to  see  me  in,  and  said  after  a  while, 
with  a  dissatisfied  eoimtenance,  "  It  is  very  stupid  to  possess 
no  talent,  to  understand  nothing,  to  be  able  to  do  uothing 
which  belongs  to  " 

"To  what  one  calls  higher  accomphshment  ?"  said  I,  in- 
quiringly. (I  found  myself  this  evening  selected  to  put 
people  into  the  way.) 

"Ah,  yes  !"  replied  young  Eobert.  "  I  hear  so  much  said 
of  nature  and  natiu*e  ;  but  still  methinks  it  could  not  be  very 
irrational  to  adorn  her  with  some  art,  with  some  accomplish- 
ment." 

"  Yes,  one  must  make  a  distinction  between  nature  in  her 
poverty  and  her  rudeness,  and  nature  in  her  exalted  refine- 
ment." 

Eobert  glanced  at  me  with  one  of  those  living,  intelligent 
looks,  which  reveal  a  brightly-conceived  idea ;  but  immedi- 
ately afterrvards  added,  "  Yes,  was  I  not  already  so  old  ;  but 
now  it  is  probably  the  best  thing  to  chase  all  such  thoughts 
out  of  the  mind." 

"  What  thoughts  ?"  demanded  I,  warmly.  "  Of  a  talent, 
or  a  higher  accomplishment  ?  Good  friend  Eobert,  a  talent 
for  the  exercise  of  any  fine  art,  is  comparatively  of  little  con- 
sequence ;  but  the  capacity  to  love  and  value  that  which  is 
beautiful,  the  capacity  to  enjoy  the  society  of  accomplished 
people,  to  create  for  yourself  a  life  full  of  noble  interest, — 
that  is  no  trivial  afiair ;  and  you  are  still  young  enough  to 
qualify  yourself  for  that.  Eenounce  not,  on  account  of  any 
necessary  exertion,  the  richest  well-springs  of  the  happiness 
of  life." 

"We  were  now  arrived  on  the  steps,  and  T  heard  Eobert,  as 
if  speaking  to  himself,  say,  "  No,  no,  that  will  I  not !  I  will 
attempt  it  in  good  earnest!  Something  shall  really  be 
done!" 

These  two  little  scenes  delighted  me.  Suddenly  and  mar^ 
vellously  are  startled  into  life  the  noblest  seeds  which 
Blumber  in  the  human  bosom.    Bruno's  powerful  sp'  rit  had 


2(M 


THE  NEIGHBOUES. 


at  once,  as  it  were  with  the  force  of  magic,  called  forth  two 
beings  into  a  higher  consciousness  of  their  nature  ;  and  thua 
is,  for  the  souls  of  men,  the  revelation  of  every  noble  gift, — • 
a  proclamation  to  arise ! 

But  to  return  to  Ramm,  and  the  supper.  I  was  glad  when 
it  was  over,  and  Bruno,  to  a  certainty,  was  not  less  so.  He 
was  no  more  like  the  same  person  that  he  had  been  during 
the  day,  than  November  is  like  May.  The  eyebrows  had 
again  contracted ;  and  he  had  evidently  found  it  difficult  to 
play  out  to  the  end  the  part  of  the  cheerful,  agreeable  host. 
How  charming  was  it,  as  the  cabriolet  once  more  rolled  away 
towards  Eosenvik ;  and  as  I  was  able  to  pour  into  Bear's  ear 
all  the  relations  which  I  have  here  written. 

We  arrived  at  home  in  the  bright  moonlight.  I  found 
Serena  in  the  front  room.  She  stood  at  the  open  window, 
her  face  turned  towards  Hamm.  I  went  softly  up  to  her, 
and  threw  my  arms  around  her.  She  leaned  her  head  against 
mine.  The  evening  breeze  blew  cold,  yet  soft,  and  bore 
melodious  tones  with  it.  They  came  from  Eamm.  I  felt  a 
tear  fall  on  my  bosom.  Serena's  lips  touched  my  cheek, 
while  she  whispered,  "  My  dear,  kind  Fanny,  I  must  leave 
thee.  I  have  been  too  long  from  home ;  let  me,  in  the 
morning,  return  to  my  aged  parents." 

"Serena,  my  angel!"  exclaimed  I  in  turn.  "What  is 
amiss  ?    Wliat  has  happened  ?    Why  this  ?" 

"  Ask  not,"  said  Serena,  while  she  laid  her  small  feverish 
hand  on  mine.  "  Ask  not  now.  In  a  while  I  will  tell  you 
all ;  now  I  cannot.  Let  me  go  early  in  the  morning  with 
the  Doctor." 

"  And  what  will  your  grandparents  say  ?  if  " 

"  I  will  teU  them  how  it  is.  I  will  satisfy  them.  Do  not 
be  uneasy,  dear  Fanny  ;  they  vrill  be  satisfied  ;  they  " 

"  Yes,  they  !  I  do  not  doubt  that  at  all,"  interrupted  I  in 
a  state  of  great  excitement.  "  They,  who  will  learn  all ;  but 
I,  who  lose  you,  and  know  not  why — I  ?  You  have  no  con- 
fidence in  me,  Serena  !    You  do  not  love  me !" 

Serena  threw  her  arm  round  my  neck  and  said :  "  0  Fanny! 

?ou  give  me  pain.  You  know  that  I  never  had  a  friend  that 
loved  so  much  as  you.  That  which  I  withhold  from  you, 
can  I  yet  reveal  to  no  one  ;  but  a  day  will  come  when,  for 
those  whom  I  sincerely  love,  I  shall  have  no  longer  ^,  secret/' 


rBANSISKA  WERNER  TO  MARIA  M. 


205 


"  That  is  enougli,  my  dear  Serena !  I  was,  indeed,  too  bad. 
Forgive  me  !  But  see  you,  dear  Serena — you  are  become 
as  dear  to  me  as  a  sister ;  your  welfare  is  as  near  to  my  heart 
as  if  it  were  my  own — and — and — "  I  began  to  cry  like  a 
child ;  Serena  did  the  same.  Bear  found  us  thus,  and  began 
to  scold  that  we  stood  with  the  Avindow  open.  When  he  had 
closed  it,  he  took  both  our  hands,  and  inquired,  with  a  kind 
and  sympathising  look,  what  so  much  troubled  us  ? 

"  Oh,  she  will  leave  us,  Bear !  Serena  will  go  home  early 
to-morrow!"  Bear  looked  so  astonished  at  us  that  I  was 
frightened,  and  said,  "  "Well,  well,  it  is  no  national  calamity, 
that  you  should  be  so  struck  with  it."  But  Bear's  counte- 
nance speedily  recovered  its  customary  good-humoured  sere- 
nity, and  he  said,  "  Well,  if  she  goes  away,  she  will  probably 
come  back  again." 

In  my  anxiety  I  had  nearly  forgotten  this  possibility,  and 
half  comforted,  I  exclaimed,  "  0  yes,  Serena!  You  will  soon, 
soon  come  back  again  !  Is  it  not  so  ?  You  will  not  long 
stay  away  ?" 

But  I  will  not  waste  my  paper  with  speech  and  answer. 
Spite  of  my  grounds  of  consolation  it  went  near  my  heart 
to  separate  from  Serena,  for  I  saw  clearly  that  this  year  she 
could  not  again  make  a  long  abode  with  us.  This  morning 
she  departed  at  seven  o'clock ;  sitting  at  Bear's  side  with  a 
hrge  bouquet  in  her  hand,  while  he  set  out  cursing  a  little  to 
himself  at  a  great  basket  of  currants  which  he  was  obliged 
to  set  between  his  feet. 

How  empty  seems  the  house  now  she  is  gone !  I  endea- 
vour in  vain  to  forget  it,  and  busy  myself  with  writing,  but 
that  does  not  succeed.  It  is  impossible  to  describe  the 
charm,  the  spring,  which  such  a  being  diffuses  around  her. 
She  is  always  so  friendly,  so  clear-spirited,  so  kind.  I  was 
better  for  living  with  her.  I  learned  through  her  to  become 
aware  of  many  blessings  which  are  in  life,  and  about  me  here. 
But  now  we  shall  daily  write  to  one  another,  that  is  some- 
thing ;  and  Bear  will  be  the  postman.  To-day,  even,  I  re- 
joice in  the  belief  that  I  shall  receive  by  him  a  note  ;  but  hei 
secret — that  I  shall  not  yet  learn.  It  troubles  and  dis» 
quiets  me. 


206 


THE  NEIGHBOURS, 


TO  THE  EEADER,  FROM  A  STRANGER  LADY. 

D^ar  and  curious  Eeader ! 

Availing  myself  of  an  apology  already  made,  and  com* 
miserating  the  pain  which  thou,  my  Eeader,  probably  par* 
ticipatest  with  Madame  Werner,  I  will  now — for  singularly 
enough,  one  and  another  knows  more,  as  it  happens,  than  the 
good  Doctor's  lady  herself — I  will  now,  just  between  our- 
selves, let  thee  into  a  secret. 

In  the  park  at  Eamm  drives  Madame  Werner,  as  she  has 
already  related.  We,  the  reader  and  I,  follow  in  silence  the 
footsteps  of  the  walkers.  During  this  ramble  we  observe 
how  the  Misses  von  P.,  notwithstanding  their  ornamental 
gentility,  condescend  to  flirt  with  the  brothers  Stalmark  in 
a  manner  which  evinces  neither  refinement  nor  delicacy 
of  feeling.  By  this  we  see  plainly,  that  would-be  accom- 
plishment and  rudeness  can  go  very  well  hand  in  hand.  But 
we  do  not  linger  long  near  this  picture,  which  has  neither 
charm  nor  keeping.  We  prefer  casting  a  glance  after  Bruno, 
who  conducts  Serena  with  an  air  of  respect  and  solicitude, 
which  to  thy  penetrating  eye,  sagacious  reader,  clearly  be- 
trays what  he  is,  and  what  he  feels.  The  Adamites  follow 
them  with  laughter  and  boisterousness. 

"  Lean  more  freely  on  my  arm,"  says  Bruno,  with  a  soft 
and  melodious  voice.  "  Let  me  support  you ;  let  me  believe, 
be  it  only  for  a  moment,  that  I  am  of  some  consequence  to 
you." 

They  went  on  in  silence.  The  wood  whispered  around 
them,  and  bowed  over  them  its  umbrageous  crown.  There 
ruled  now  in  Bruno's  soul — and  he  has  often  said  that  it  is 
this  very  feeling  which  makes  him  so  happy  by  Serena's  side 
— a  peace  which  he  has  rarely  enjoyed.  Something  of  her 
dear  and  gentle  being  seemed  to  pass  over  into  his  own  ;  he 
felt  as  though  his  better  genius  were  near  him  ;  and  the  be- 
neficent pulse  of  life,  that  genial  feeling,  tliat  pure  thought, 
that  indistinct  and  yet  mighty  hope  of  a  beautiful  future, — 
those  glad  vernal  anticipations  to  which  no  heart  which  ever 
beat  in  a  human  form  is  wholly  a  stranger, — all  came  like 
angels  and  saluted  his  spirit.  Then  rose  a  voice  in  him — it 
was  that  of  repentance, — and  cried,  "  Weep  for  the  past,  for 
the  lost  I"  but  another,  sweet  and  strong  as  eternal  mercy 


TO  THE  BPADEE,  TEOM  A  STEANGEE  LADY.  207 

cried  still  .ouder,  "  Despair  not,  since  slie  is  nigh  tliee  !'* 
Ajid  then  he  looked  into  her  face — it  was  so  friendly,  so  clear, 
— and  he  saw  her  only. 

At  once  tlie  Adamites  raised  a  ringing  cry  of  joy,  and 
sprang  into  the  wood.  Sister  Mally  called  them  back,  con- 
tinuing herself  to  run  after  them.  A  roe  hounded  timidly 
on  before  them.  All  vanished  ; — Bruno  was  left  alone  with 
Serena.  Serena  stood  still  as  irresolute.  They  stood  by  a 
fine  old  oak,  round  whose  stem  was  raised  a  bank  of  turf,  and 
about  which  flowers  were  planted.  It  seemed  a  spot  that 
was  tended  with  pecuhar  care. 

"  Will  you  not  rest  here  a  moment  ?"  asked  Bruno.  "  We 
can  here  await  our  little  friends,  who  will  probably  come  back 
hither." 

Serena  consented,  and  seated  herself.  Bruno  stood  before 
her,  and  folio vved  observantly  the  looks  with  which  she  sur- 
veyed the  place,  and  which  betrayed  awakening  recollections. 

"  I  fancy  that  I  recognise  this  spot  and  this  tree,"  said  she 
at  length.  "  Yes,  certainly,  here  it  was,  many  years  ago, 
that  a  great  danger  threatened  me — I  was  then  but  a  little, 
child ; — T  think  it  was  exactly  under  this  tree.  A  snake  had 
wound  itself  about  my  neck.  It  would  most  likely  have 
stung  or  strangled  me,  had  it  not  been  for  the  spirit  and 
presence  of  mind  of  a  little  boy,  who  rescued  me  at  the  peril 
of  his  own  life." 

"Do  you  remember  this  circumstance?"  asked  Bruno, 
with  emotion.    "  He  remembers  it  himself." 

"  He !  what  ?  who  ?  How  do  you  know  ?"  demanded  Se- 
rena rapidly,  and  in  astonishment. 

"  He  is  my  friend.  He  has  often  told  me  of  the  child  that 
he  carried  in  his  arms  through  the  woods  of  Ramm." 

"  Oh,  lives  he  yet  ?  Where  is  he  ?  What  know  you  of 
him?"  asked  Serena,  in  the  highest  excitement. 

"  He  lives.  Perhaps  it  were  better  if  he  did  not.  His 
life  has  given  no  one  pleasure.  But  his  unquiet  heart  cannot 
rest  till  he  has  found  another  and  a  better  heart  to  which  to 
unite  itself.  He  experienced  early  misfortune — nay,  indeed, 
crime — he  was  disowned  by  his  mother!  He  then  went 
wildly  about  in  the  world  for  a  long  time,  and  battled  with 
life,  with  men,  with  himself.  He  sought  he  knew  not  what 
— ^he  had  early  lost  himself.    He  who  reposes  on  the  bosom 


208 


TM  NEIGHBOURS. 


of  a  mother  or  a  wife — who  holds  the  hand  ol  a  dear  sister--* 

he  knows  not,  he  understands  not,  the  emptiness  and  tlie 
darkness  which  lie  feels  who  has  no  one  in  the  great  wide 
world — no  one  who  loves  him,  and  holds  him  fast  in  love,  and 
calls  tenderly  '  Come  back !' — no  one  who  presses  the  re- 
pentant to  his  heart,  and  says  *  I  forgive !'  Is  it  to  be  won- 
dered at,  that  he  who  is  thus  cast  off,  wrecked  in  heart  and 
hope,  given  as  a  prey  to  the  winds — that  he  should  wander 
wide,  and  into  labyrinths  of  error  ?  Serena,  would  you  con- 
demn him  ?" 

"  I  ?    Ah,  I  would  weep  over  him !" 

"  Do  you  weep  over  him,  Serena  ?  He  blesses  those  tears, 
and  he  is  not  unworthy  of  them.  Bruno  erred,  but  he  sank 
not.  An  invisible  hand  supported  him.  Was  it  the  angel 
which  secretly  whispered  k)  him  of  a  holier  and  a  better 
world  ?  I  will  believe  it.  Certain  it  is  that  he  never  forgot 
hcir.  In  his  richest  remembrances,  in  his  best  feelings,  in 
the  depths  of  his  soul,  she  stood  in  the  glory  of  her  innocence. 

 O  Serena !  if  he  now  stood  before  you  and  said,  '  This 

bias  of  childhood  is  now  become  love — true,  eternal  love  ; 
those  memories  are  reality!  They  are  dear  to  me,  Serena, 
as  the  reconciliation  with  my  mother — as  the  hope  of  Grod*s 
mercy  ;  dearer,  a  thousand  times  dearer,  than  life  ! — Serena, 
it  is  Bruno,  the  friend  of  your  childhood,  who  here  pays  you 
the  homage  of  his  soul!"  and  in  boundless  love  Bruno  sank 
before  her  on  his  knee.  "  It  is  Bruno  who  craves  from  you 
his  peace,  his  happiness,  his  life  !  Serena,  will  you  cast  me 
from  you  ?" 

"d  my  Grod!  Bruno!"  cried  Serena,  in  indescribable 

agitation  of  spirit,  and  reached  him  her  hand. 

He  clasped  it  passionately  between  his  own,  and  asked, 
with  a  look  which  seemed  powerful  enough  to  draw  forth 
secrets  which  lie  in  the  depth  of  the  soul,  "Is  it  pity — is  it 
love — which  extends  to  me  this  hand  ?" 

"  It  is — not  pity.    Oh,  arise !" 

Voices  were  heard ;  footsteps  approached.  Bruno  pressed 
Serena's  hand  to  his  heart  as  he  arose,  and  said,  "  Preserve 
my  secret!  The  hour  is  not  yet  come."  He  could  say  no 
more.  Miss  Hellevi  Husgafvel,  at  the  head  of  a  lively  troop 
of  walkers,  joined  them,  and  did  not  leave  them  again.  In 
the  evening,  as  Bruno  conducted  Sei^na  to  the  carriage,  he 


FRANSISKA  WERNER  TO  MARIA.  M- 


209 


held  her  a  moment  back,  and  wliispered,  audible  only  to  her, 
"  One  word !  one  word !  Not  pity  ; — it  was  then  a  more 
beautifiu  feeling  ^    Serena  !  one  word — one  look 

But  Serena  spoke  no  word,  gave  no  look,  in  answer.  She 
drew  her  hand  from  his ;  and,  timid  as  tlie  bird  flying  to  its 
nest,  hastened  to  her  aged  grandparents.  Bruno  looked 
darkly  after  the  fast- speeding  carriage  ;  and  I,  my  Eeader, 
now  take  a  friendly  leave  of  thee. 

CHAPTEE  XI. 

FBANSISKA  WERKER  TO  MARIA  M  . 

Rosenvik,  August  22nd. 

The  cloud  which  hung  over  us  has  sunk  lower.  There 
will  be  a  storm  to  a  certainty.  Grod  guide  it  to  blessing,  and 
not  to  destruction ! 

Serena  was  gone,  and  with  her  much  joy,  much  pleasant- 
ness. H^o  one  felt  it  deeper  than  Bruno.  He  came  as  usual 
in  the  evening,  but  was  no  longer  like  himself.  He  came, 
saluted  us  gloomily,  was  silent,  w^ent  to  and  fro  in  a  restless 
mood,  or  seated  himself  near  the  spot  where  Serena  was 
accustomed  to  sit,  and  leaned  his  head  on  his  hand.  Thus 
sate  he  a  long  time  without  a  word ;  and  only  the  vein  on  his 
forehead,  \Nhich  sw^elled  visibly,  testified  the  contest  in  his 
mind. 

Bear  frequently  fixed  on  him  the  still,  observant  eye  of  the 
physician,  which  seemed  to  watch  the  progress  of  the  inward 
struggle,  and  await  the  crisis.  I  was  friendly — yes,  even 
with  a  sisterly  kindness — towards  Bruno  ;  for  I  saw  that  he 
suffered  and  was  unhappy.  Bruno  appeared  sometimes  as 
though  he  would  say  something ;  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  he 
would  ask,  or  would  confess,  something  of  that  which  lay 
heavy  on  his  heart ;  but  no  such  w^ord  came  to  solve  the 
mystery,  and  all  the  conversation  which  we  began,  ended 
with  brief  answers  or  with  his  total  silence.  I  must  testify, 
however,  that  no  bad  humour — the  demon  with  which  little 
souls  often  tyrannise  over  those  about  them — discovered 
itself  in  the  mood  and  manner  of  Bruno.  One  saw  that  he 
was  in  deep  trouble,  which  rendered  him  deaf  and  dumb  to 
all  that  was  going  on  aroimd  him.    We  resolved  at  last  to 

o 


210 


THE  NEIGHBOrES. 


leave  him  to  himself ;  and  passed  our  eveniug  as  we  usually 
do  when  we  are  alone — Bear  with  his  joinery,  and  I  reading 
something  aloud  to  him.  Bruno  might  listen  if  he  were 
disposed. 

Last  evening  he  came  again,  and  was  milder  than  usual. 
He  took  Bear's  and  my  hands,  pressed  them,  and  said,  "I 
am  no  agreeable  guest  for  you,  my  friends  ;  but  have  for- 
bearance with  me."  He  turned  quietly  away  from  us,  and 
seated  himself  at  the  piano,  where  he  played  a  stirring  and 
stormy  piece.  Tea  came  in :  I  prepared  it,  and  handed  to 
Bear  a  large  cup, — he  has  always  a  particular  teacup  for 
himself,  with  ugly  little  blue  Cupids,  which  please  him 
vastly.  As  I  reached  him  this,  and  he,  in  his  good  humour, 
kissed  my  hand,  I  know  not  how  it  happened — but  he 
seemed  so  agreeable,  so  kind,  so  excellent — but  I  laid  aside 
the  teacup  and  basket  of  confections,  and  seizing  his  great 
head,  pressed  it  to  my  heart  with  lively  affection.  Bear  put 
one  arm  round  me,  but — oh,  scandalous !  stretched  out  the 
other  towards  the  cake-basket.  I  was  still  so  good  to  him 
that  I  only  scolded  him  jocosely  for  his  divided  love.  Bear 
answered  me  in  the  same  humour,  when  we  were  startled  by 
a  deep  painful  sigh,  more  resembling,  indeed,  a  suppressed 
groan.  We  looked  at  Bruno,  and  saw  him  pale,  and,  with 
an  expression  not  to  be  described,  regarding  us.  "  Oh,  my 
God  !  my  God  !"  exclaimed  he,  slowly,  while  he  laid  his  hand 
on  his  forehead  as  in  unspeakable  agony  ;  and  now  ran — no, 
started — tears  from  his  eyes  with  a  violence  which  at  once 
astonished  and  shocked  me.  Bear  stood  up,  and  with  an 
unanimous  impulse  we  both  approached  Bruno.  The  iron 
bands  were  now  rent  from  his  heart :  he  stretched  out  his 
arms  towards  us,  and  cried  with  a  voice  which  the  most 

powerful  emotion  speedily  choked  again,  "  My  mother  !  

reconcile  me  with  my  mother  !" 

Bear  and  I  went  to  him  ;  we  opened  our  arms  to  him  ;  we 
embraced  him.  He  was  nearly  beside  himself.  He  pressed 
us  with  wild  vehemence  to  his  breast ;  and  in  broken  sen- 
tences, which  seemed  fiung  as  it  were  from  his  tempested 
soul,  he  cried,  "Manage  for  me;  I  cannot  do  it!    I  am 

cursed !  Speak ;  prepare  the  way  for  me !  See  if  I  can  go 

to  her.  Manage,  that  when  I  come  she  shall  not  spurn  me 
away.    Say  that  I  have  suffered  much — much  Let  lue 


FBIITSISKA  WEENER  TO  MABIA  M. 


211 


repose  on  her  bosom.  Till  then  can  I  find  no  rest. — My 
mother! — mv  mother!  " 

Our  tears  flowed.  We  spoke  to  him  tender,  pacifying, 
comforting  words,  AYe  promised  to  act  for  him  ;  we  assured 
him  that  all  should  turn  out  well.  But  the  storm  which  at 
length  had  burst  forth,  could  not  quickly  lay  itself.  He  was 
in  the  most  violent  agitation  of  mind ;  and  after  he  had  for 
some  moments  walked  vehemently  to  and  fro  in  the  room, 
he  said  to  us,  ''I  must  now  leave  you.  Forgive  this  scene. 
Think  of  me,  and  for  me.  Let  me  know  that  which  you 
undertake  ;  and  let  that  which  must  come,  come  quickly. 
This  waiting  is  hell!"  In  the  same  moment  he  was  on 
horseback,  and  vanished  with  the  rapidity  of  lightniug. 

Bear  and  I  stood  vis-a-vis,  and  looked  at  each  other  as  if 
the  day  of  judgment  had  broken  upon  us.  Bear  forgot  to 
drink  his  tea.  I  had  never  before  seen  him  so  disturbed. 
This  filled  me  with  wonder,  for  I  had  imagined  that  the  affair, 
though  it  would  be  difficult  to  bring  about,  must  necessarily 
end  happily ;  and  the  prodigal  son  must  be  once  more  re- 
ceived into  his  mother's  house,  "  It  is  not  credible,"  I  said, 
*^  that  a  mother  wdll  not  receive  with  open  arms  her  repentant 
and  returning  son." 

"  Oh,  you  do  not  yet  fully  know  Ma  chere  mere,"  said 
Bear,  grinning  and  spitting — which  last  occurs  now  only  on 
extraordinary  occasions.  "  In  certain  regions  of  her  mind 
she  is  as  it  were  petrified ;  and  then  her  mental  ailment ! — I 
hope  that  she  will  acknowledge  and  receive  again  her  son, 
when  she  sees  him,  and  learns  his  present  mood  of  mind.  I 
hope  it,  but  how  to  manage  it ;  how  to  prepare  her  for  it, 
when  the  mere  mentioning  his  name  drives  her  out  of  her 
senses !  I  will  not  answer  for  it,  that  her  disorder  of  mind 
does  not  return.  People  like  her  and  her  son  run,  through 
the  violence  of  their  passions,  on  the  very  precipice  of  the 
gulf  of  madness.    A  touch  may  precipitate  them." 

"  God  preserve  us!"  I  exclaimed. 

"  But,  at  all  events,  the  attempt  at  reconciliation,"  said 
Bear,  "  must  be  made.  Better  that  mother  and  son  die  in 
frenzy  than  in  hate.  But  we  must  go  cautiously  to  work. 
Ma  chere  mere  must  in  the  first  place  be  sounded  ;  her  puJso 
must  be  felt ;  she  is  not  a  patient  to  be  treated  lightly." 

We  planned  and  pondered  how  the  matter  was  to  be 
o2 


212 


THE  NEIGHBOUES. 


assayed.    "We  took  up  and  threw  away  scheme  after  scheme 

and  at  length  we  resolved  on  the  following. 

It  has  now  been  for  some  time  the  custom,  when  we  are 
all  assembled  at  Carlsfors  in  an  evening,  to  read  aloud 
romances  or  other  light  and  amusing  stories.  I  have  gene- 
rally been  the  reader,  and  Ma  chere  mere,  who  seldom  asks 
after  any  other  books  but  the  Bible  and  the  cookery  book,  yet 
seemed  sometimes  to  listen  with  pleasure.  Bear  and  I  now 
resolved,  the  next  evening  that  we  should  spend  at  Carlsfors, 
to  propose  a  reading,  and  to  be  prepared  with  a  story  which 
should  be  adapted  to  awake  a  maternal  feeling,  and  thus  to 
allow  us  to  observe  the  disposition  of  her  mind  towards  her 
son.  If  this  appeared  auspicious,  then  another  step  might 
be  taken.  What  this  was  to  be,  we  could  not  agree  upon. 
I  proposed  that  Bruno  himself  should  then  write  to  his 
mother ;  but  this  Bear  rejected,  as  a  measure  too  startling 
and  dangerous.  He  appeared  rather  to  prefer  making  use 
of  me  as  a  mediator  between  mother  and  son.  "  It  is  a 
peculiarity  of  hers,"  he  said,  "  that  what  she  reads  on  paper, 
never  operates  very  effectually  on  her  feelings.  She  must 
read  it  in  the  eye,  she  must  hear  the  voice,  if  the  words  are 
to  reach  her  heart.    You,  my  Fanny  " 

"  Thanks,  my  dear  Bear,  profoundest  thanks,  for  your 
good  intentions.  But,  if  possible,  let  this  commission  be 
spared  me.  I  feel  that  I  have  not  the  courage  to  place  myself 
between  these  two  violent  spirits.  I  might  very  readily  be 
crushed  to  pieces.  Know  you  not  the  fable  of  the  earthen 
pot?" 

"  Well,  well,  we  will  see.  It  is  time  enough  to  think  of 
the  second  step,  when  the  first  has  been  taken." 

"  And  for  this  I  will  immediately  prepare  myself;  while 
you  are  in  the  town,  I  will  select  a  fitting  subject,  or  fabri- 
cate one." 

"  Good !  And  so  we  have  the  weapons  ready  for  the  occa- 
sion. But  recollect,  my  little  Tanny,  the  drift  must  not  be 
too  apparent.  If  Ma  chere  mere  suspect  a  hidden  object, 
she  will  set  herself  immediately  against  it." 

"  I  will  do  my  best,  Bear.  At  all  events,  you  shall  peruse 
and  criticise  my  story  before  we  venture  to  read  it  to  Ma 
chere  mere." 

During  the  night — one  obtains  the  clearest  ideas  in  th6 


FRANSISKA  WERNER  TO  MARIA 


213 


dark — it  became  manifest  to  me  what  text  I  must  avail  myself 
of;  and  as  soon  as  Bear  was  gone  away  in  the  morning,  I 
took  out  of  my  bookcase,  which  Bear  has  famously  supplied, 
'*  Fryxell's  Stories  from  the  Swedish  History;"  and  began 
to  read  over  and  consider  the  narrative  of  Erik  Stenbock  and 
Malin  Sture,  The  more  I  thought  it  over,  the  more  satisfied 
I  was  with  it ;  and  scarcely  had  I  gone  through  it  a  second 
time,  when  there  came  an  invitation  from  Ma  chere  mere 
to  spend  the  evening  at  Carlsfors,  if  we  had  nothing  better 
to  do.  I  returned  thanks,  and  said  we  would  come.  Since 
this  moment  I  have  been  nearly  in  a  fever,  and  it  was  in  the 
endeavour  to  relieve  my  restlessness  that  I  have  written  this. 
Already  this  morning,  before  he  left  home,  Bear  wrote  a  few" 
lines  to  Bruno  to  acquaint  him  with  our  plan.  The  answer 
which  the  messenger  brought  back,  I  had  opened  during 
Bear's  absence.  It  contained  only  the  w^ords — "  Do  what 
you  think  best  Bruno." 

Afternoon. 

Bear  has  read  the  story,  and  is  satisfied  with  it.  We  are 
setting  out.  Ah,  Maria!  this  evening  I  am  depressed  and 
restless.  I  go  to  sound  the  depths  of  a  heart,  and  on  this 
moment  how  much  depends  !  This  thought  lies  painfully  on 
mind  and  body.    Adieu  !  adieu ! 

23rd. 

"We  were  at  Carlsfors.  It  was  evening.  The  lights  stood 
on  the  green  table  in  the  drawing-room,  and  we  sat  around. 
The  important  and  trying  hour  was  come.  I  was  in  a  strange 
state  of  mind,  and  all  the  others  were  unusually  silent  and 
dull.  Bear  had  taken  up  a  penknife,  and,  in  want  of  some- 
thing to  do,  began  to  cut  into  tlie  table.  Ma  chere  mere 
struck  him  lightly  on  the  hand,  and  then  gave  him  a  bundle 
of  pens  to  make.  She  then  sate  herself  down  to  make  a 
fish-net,  which  is  her  customary  evening  employment ;  for 
her  eyes  are  not  strong  enough  to  bear  any  finer  work. 
"And  now,  little  wife,"  she  said  to  me,  "read  something  to 
us :  but  let  it  be  only  something  that  is  cheerful.  One  lias 
enough  in  the  world  here  to  grieve  over,  without  having  to 
cry  over  what  one  finds  in  books." 

"  I  cannot  promise,"  I  replied,  "that  what  I  read  shall  be 
lively,  but  I  think  it  very  interesting  ;  and  what  is  more,  it  is 
in  all  its  parts  historically  true 


214 


THE  NEIGHBOTJES. 


That  is  always  a  recommendation,"  said  she,  "  and  one 
must  therefore  adapt  one's  palate  to  the  provision-basket." 
I  began — 

ERIK  STENBOCK  AND  MALIN  STURE. 
(From  "  Malin's  Own  Family  Book.") 

In  the  parish  of  Morko,  in  the  province  of  Sodermanland, 
in  a  deep  running  creek  of  the  Baltic,  lies  a  little  triangular 
island.  On  this  stood  a  rock  ninety  feet  higli,  from  which 
could  be,  far  and  wide,  overlooked  the  fields,  the  crags,  and 
the  navigable  waters  which  lay  around.  This  island,  in  the 
early  times,  had  been  a  resort  of  the  Vikings ;  and  deep 
caves  were  yet  shown  in  the  mountains  which  were  believed 
to  have  been  the  dwellings  of  these  people,  or  used  by  them 
as  prisons.  Some  believe  that  it  was  here,  in  the  time  of 
Ingiald  Illrada,  that  Granmar,  the  Fy Ikes-king  of  Soderman- 
land, received  the  See-king,  Hjorward  Ylfing  ;  and  Granmar's 
daughter,  the  beautiful  Hildegund,  drank  to  Hjorward  the 
health  of  Eolf  Krake.  The  place  is  called  Sjimonso,  which 
some  explain  to  mean  Seaman's  Island.  In  later  times  it  has 
received,  from  its  form,  the  name  of  Horningsholm  ;  and  has 
been,  by  embankments,  gradually  converted  into  a  peninsula. 
It  was  successively  in  the  possession  of  the  families  of  Fol- 
kungs,  Oernefots,  of  Ulfv^s,  and  the  younger  Stures ; — was 
strongly  fortified,  and  often  besieged,  taken,  and  laid  waste  ; 
the  last  time  was  in  the  reign  of  Christian  the  Tyrant. 

Svante  Sture,  son  of  Sten  Sture  the  younger,  who  was 
married  to  Martha  Lejonhufvud,  afterwards  caused  a  castle 
to  be  erected  on  the  old  site  ;  which  was  as  noble  a  specimen 
of  architecture  as  it  was  strong  through  its  situation  and 
fortifications.  The  castle  rose,  on  many  fathoms  deep  of 
foundation  walls,  four  stories  high,  and  was  defended  at  the 
corners  with  strong  towers.  A  conception  of  the  wealth  of 
Sture,  and  of  the  nobility  of  the  time,  may  be  formed  when 
we  read  that  at  the  wedding  of  Sigrid  Sture  with  Thure 
Persson  Ejelke,  in  the  year  1562,  fifty  measures  of  wine,  four 
tuns  of  mead,  a  tun  and  a  half  of  must,  twelve  barrels  of 
clierry  brandy,  tw^enty  hogsheads  of  beer,  forty-five  oxen,  two 
hundred  sheep,  twenty-one  swine,  seventeen  calves,  foul 
lumdred  and  fifty-three  cans  of  honey,  etc.,  were  consumed. 
Through  the  confiscation  of  the  church  property,  in  parti* 


TBAirSISKA  WEEITEB  TO  MARIA  M. 


215 


cular,  a  great  number  of  estates  fell  to  the  nobles,  and  espe- 
cially to  Sture,  the  sole  heir  of  so  many  mighty  families. 
Through  this  vast  wealth,  through  the  unspotted  glory  of 
Sture' s  name,  the  marriage  alliance  with  Grustavus  Wasa  and 
the  distinguished  qualities  of  many  of  the  children,  the  house 
of  Horningsholm  stood  long  in  the  kingdom,  second  only  to 
royalty  ;  and  was  the  home  of  honour,  pride,  and  joy.  The 
joy  vanished  after  the  horrible  Sture  murder,  in  the  year 
1567  ;  but  Madame  Martha  maintained  its  pride,  since  the 
family  had  maintained  its  honour.  Two  surviving  sons,  and 
five  daughters,  promised  also  to  restore  the  joy.  During 
their  minority,  Madame  Martha  ruled  the  house  of  Horn- 
ingsholm and  all  its  dependent  estates,  with  a  vigour  and 
ability  which  obtained  her  the  surname  of  King  Martha.  At 
the  same  time  she  distinguished  herself  by  her  magnanimity. 
Erik  XIY.  had  murdered  her  husband  and  two  of  her  sons. 
When,  by  the  change  of  the  dynasty,  Erik's  wife  and  children 
were  dispersed  through  the  country,  without  home  and  pro- 
tection, Madame  Martha  took  to  her  the  daughter,  Sigrid 
Wasa,  then  four  or  five  years  old,  and  brought  her  up  with 
motherly  tenderness  and  care. 

"  This  history  delights  me,"  said  Ma  chere  mere,  as  I 
paused  a  moment  in  the  reading  :  "  it  is  good!"  Ma  chere 
mere  raised  herself  erect,  and  looked  as  proud  as  if  she  her- 
self had  been  King  Martha.  I  am  persuaded  that  she  felt 
herself  related  to  her.    I  proceeded. 

Erik  Stenbock,  the  son  of  the  old  Grustavus  Olsson  of 
Torpa  and  of  Brita  Lejonhufvud,  went  often  as  a  near  relative 
to  Horningsholm,  and  became  passionately  attached  to  Miss 
Malin,  the  second  of  the  string  of  daughters.  She  returned 
his  passion ;  but  Madame  Martha,  on  account  of  the  near 
relationship,  would  not  hear  it  even  spoken  of.  They  were, 
in  fact,  sisters'  children  Stenbock  sought  to  win  his  object 
by  the  ordinary  means.  He  heaped  presents  on  mother, 
sisters,  and  servants  ;  but  all  was  in  vain.  Many  were  moved, 
but  not  the  old  Countess.  She  had  taken  the  opinion,  by 
letter,  of  Laurentius,  the  archbishop  of  Upsala,  who  stood 
firm  by  the  declaration  which  he  had  made  on  the  third  mar- 
riage of  G-ustavus  Wasa,  and  protested  against  the  union. 
Upon  tliis  it  became  totally  useless  to  speak  further  of  it  to 
he  Countess.    So  passed  manv  vears.    The  lovers  saw  their 


216 


THE  5rEIGHB0UES. 


youth  pass  over;  Erik  had  counted  his  thirty-fourth,  and 
Malin  her  thirty-third  year ;  at  the  same  time,  their  mutual 
attachment  continued  as  warm  as  ever.  Every  means  to 
move  the  mother  had  been  tried  in  vain,  and  they  resolved  at 
length  to  fly.  Stenbock  confided  his  purpose  to  the  Duke 
Karl,  of  Sodermanland,  then  in  his  twentieth  year,  and  re- 
ceived from  him,  in  support  of  his  plan,  a  guard  of  two  hun- 
dred cavalry. 

In  the  month  of  March,  1573,  he  made  a  journey  with  his 
sister  Cecilia,  the  wife  of  Gustavns  Eoos,  to  Horningsholm ; 
— concealed  the  cavalry  not  far  from  the  castle,  and  instructed 
them  what  they  had  to  do.  The  same  evening  Miss  Malin 
consented  to  fly  with  him  the  next  day.  She  passed  a  niglit 
of  great  anxiety.  In  the  morning,  as  she  was  alone  in  the 
chamber,  she  fell  on  her  knees  in  a  window  and  prayed,  shed- 
ding torrents  of  tears.  At  this  moment  the  elder  sister, 
Madame  Sigrid,  entered  the  room.  "  Grod  bless  you,"  said 
she:  "you  are  engaged  in  a  good  business."  "Would  to 
Grod  that  it  were  good!"  replied  Miss  Malin.  "It  is  cer- 
tainly good,"  said  Madame  Sigrid,  "  to  pray  to  God  with 
tears."  "Ah!"  exclaimed  Malin,  "if  all  my  friends  and  re- 
latives should  cast  me  ofl*,  you  will  certainly  not  turn  your 
true  heart  away  from  me  ?"  "  Wby  do  you  speak  in  that 
manner?"  said  Madame  Sigrid:  "none  of  the  race  of  Sture 
have  ever  done  anything  on  account  of  which  one  need  turn 
one's  heart  from  them." 

At  this  moment  the  old  Countess  called  Madame  Sigrid 
to  her,  but  Miss  Malin  went  into  another  room.  Erik  en- 
tered it  immediately,  greeted  those  present,  and  said  to  Malin, 
"  Dear  sister,  will  you  look  at  that  horse  which  I  have  made 
^'ou  a  present  of?  He  stands  below  in  the  court."  She 
consented,  and  he  took  her  arm  to  conduct  her  down.  As 
they  w-ent  through  the  lower  story,  there  sate  Nils,  and 
Anna  Sture' s  nurse  Lucy.  Miss  Malin  begged  them  to 
follow  her,  which  they  did.  Below,  under  the  arch  of  the 
gateway,  stood  the  horse  harnessed  to  a  sledge,  in  which 
the  lady  with  her  followers  seated  herself.  Stenbock  placed 
himself  behind,  and  drove  away,  while  many  of  the  servants 
looked  on,  in  the  idea  that  it  was  merely  a  hunting  excursion. 
But  as  the  nurse  observed  that  Master  Erik  took  the  way 
towards  the  sea,  and  drove  so  rapidly,  she  suspected  mischief, 


FEAI^SISKA  WEEKEE  TC  MAEIA  M. 


217 


and  began  to  crj  out, — "  "What  are  you  about,  my  dear  lady? 
Reflect,  bow  angry  your  mother  will  be  that  you  travel  so 
unattended."  But  Master  Erik  drew  forth  a  blunderbuss, 
and  set  it  to  the  breast  of  the  nurse,  with  the  words — "  Silence ! 
or  you  have  spoken  your  last !"  On  the  shore  below,  the 
cavalry  came  suddenly  forward,  surrounded  the  sledge,  and 
placed  themselves  on  each  side,  and  then  away  went  they, 
as  fast  as  the  horses  could  gallop,  to  Svardsbro.  There  were 
tailors  and  sewers  with  the  richest  stuffs  of  all  kinds,  who 
took  the  lady's  measure  and  began  to  make  her  clothes,  while 
the  cavalry  kept  guard  round  the  house,  so  that  no  one  could 
come  in  or  go  out.  But  exactly  as  Master  Erik  had  made 
off  towards  the  sea.  Miss  Margaret  Sture  had  gone  by  chance 
to  the  vrindow,  saw,  and  comprehended  their  object.  She 
began  immediately  to  cry  out,  "Master  Erik  is  certainly 
carrying  off  my  sister  Malin !"  At  these  words,  the  old 
Countess  and  Madame  Sigrid  sprang  first  to  the  window,  and 
then  do^vTL  into  the  court.  But  upon  the  steps  the  mother 
fainted  and  fell  do^vn.  AVhen  she  was  somewhat  restored, 
she  commanded  Madame  Sigrid  to  hasten  at  once  after  the 
fugitives,  and  to  see  if  she  could  not  bring  them  back.  In 
the  mean  time  sate  Madame  Martha  on  the  steps  in  trouble 
and  lamentation,  and  could  not  perfectly  recover  herself. 
There  came  hurrying,  Master  Erik's  sister,  the  Countess 
Cecilia  Boos,  and  deplored  that  Master  Erik  should  have 
acted  so  contrary  to  Madame  Martha's  will,  asserting  that 
she  had  known  nothing  whatever  of  his  intention  ;  but  at  the 
same  time  never  could  have  believed  that  Madame  Martha 
would  have  taken  it  so  ill.  Madame  Martha  turned  fiercely 
her  head,  and  answered,  "  God  punish  you  and  your  brother, 
who  has  robbed  me  of  my  child.  Hasten,  at  -least,  after  her, 
and  remain  with  her,  that  no  shame  befal  her."  Madame 
Cecilia  held  her  peace,  and  departed. 

When  Madame  Sigrid,  whom  the  mother  had  sent  after 
the  fugitives,  arrived  at  Svardsbro,  it  was  only  alone,  and  that 
with  difficulty,  that  she  was  admitted  into  the  house.  There 
she  began  to  relate  to  the  sister  the  sorrow  and  lamentation 
of  the  mother,  and  to  exhort  her  to  return,  in  which  case  the 
mother  had  promised  to  forgive  her.  Miss  Malin  made  no 
answer.  Then  began  again  Sigrid,  and  still  more  vehemently 
to  exhort  and  to  entreat  her.  or  that  she  would  be  the  death 


218 


THE  NEiaHBOTJES. 


of  the  motlier.  Malin  said,  "  If  you  can  assure  me  that  tha 
mother  will  at  last  consent  to  our  union,  then  will  I  gladly 
go  back."     "That  I   cannot  do,"    said  Madame  Sigrid. 

Then,"  replied  Malin,  "  the  first  error  is  just  as  good  as  the 
last;"  and  began  bitterly  to  weep.  When  Madame  Sigrid 
found  she  could  not  persuade  her  sister,  she  returned  to 
Horningsholm,  where  the  mother  was  lying  in  bed  in  trouble 
and  lamentings.  Both  were  increased  as  Sigrid  entered 
alone.  Misfortune  had  before,  but  now  disgrace  had,  fallen 
on  the  house.  She  could  derive  neither  comfort  nor  help, 
nor  even  the  hope  of  revenge.  She  was  a  lone  widow,  with 
many  daughters  ;  the  sons  were  yet  scarcely  more  than  chil- 
dren. On  the  contrary,  the  carrier-ofF  of  her  daughter  was 
himself  a  mighty  man,  the  brother  of  the  queen-widow  Cathe- 
rine, supported  by  the  Duke,  and  in  favour  with  the  King. 
Nevertheless,  Madame  Martha  determined  not  to  give  way. 

In  the  mean  time  journeyed  Miss  Malin  with  the  Countess 
Cecilia  Eoos  and  Master  Erik  to  his  brother-in-law,  PehrBrahe, 
at  Sundholm,  in  the  province  of  Westgothland.  There  Erik 
left  her,  and  hastened  himself  to  Stockholm.  But  Madame 
Martha's  letter  of  complaint  had  arrived  there  before  him, 
and  he  was  immediately  deprived  of  his  fiefs  and  offices,  and 
placed  in  custody.  There  now  arose  an  active  mediation  and 
sharp  wranglings  between  the  families  Sture  and  Stenbock, 
which  at  length  came  to  this  conclusion,  that  Erik  was  again 
set  at  liberty.  Thereupon  he  did  aU  that  was  possible  to  win 
over  to  him  the  relations  of  Miss  Malin,  and  he  succeeded 
with  all  of  them  except  the  mother.  He  vn'ote  to  the  Lutheran 
Academy  at  Eostock,  and  received  thence  the  decision  of  the 
Theologians,  which  he  forwarded  to  her,  that  marriages  be- 
tween sisters'  children  might  be  allowed ;  but  she  paid  not 
the  slightest  regard  to  it. 

Master  Erik  and  Miss  Malin  now  despaired  of  ever  being 
able  to  soften  her ;  it  was  now  a  year  and  a  quarter  since 
their  elopement ;  they  passed  over  the  Hallandish  borders, 
were  there  married  by  a  Danish  priest,  and  returned  the 
same  day  to  Torpa,  where  the  wedding  was  celebrated.  At 
the  same  time  it  was  arranged  that  King  John,  the  Queen- 
widow,  the  Duke  Karl,  the  Princesses,  the  Council  of  the 
kingdom,  and  all  the  relations  of  Stenbock,  should  write  to 
Madame  Martha,  and  entreat  for  Master  Erik  and  his  wife. 


FEANSISKA  WEEKEB  TO  MAEIA  M. 


219 


But  the  grief  and  tlie  wrath  of  the  mother  were  now  only  the 
more  aggravated  hj  the  news  of  this  marriage,  which  had 
taken  place  without  her  knowledge,  and  spite  of  all  the 
solicitations  on  their  behalf,  she  would  listen  to  nothing  more 
respecting  either  her  daughter  or  her  son-in-law. 

Here  I  paused  a  moment,  in  order  to  sound  the  bottom  of 
Ma  chere  mere's  heart.  "  Is  it  really  possible,"  I  said, 
"  that  such  stubbornness  can  exist  ?  How  can  any  one  be 
so  unbending  and  irreconcilable  !" 

"It  is  unreasonable!"  said  Jean  Jacques. 

"  It  is  irrational !"  said  Jane  Marie. 

"It  is  unnatural !"  growled  Bear,  with  a  horrible  grimace. 

"It  is  right!"  cried  Ma  chere  mere,  with  a  voice  of 
thunder.  "  It  is  no  more  than  right.  I  would  have  done  the 
same  myself!" 

"  O  no  !  that  would  you  not  indeed  1"  said  I,  while  I  looked 
at  her  imploringly. 

"Upon  my  soul!  I  would  have  done  it!"  said  she  yet 
more  violently,  and  smote  her  fist  on  the  table  so  that 
the  lights  tottered.  "  Yes,  that  would  I ;  and  if  even  thou, 
Fransiska,  hadst  been  the  offender,  and  I  thy  real  mother ! 
Yes,  I  would  thus  punish  thee.  Thou  shouldst  never  again  • 
come  into  my  sight,  no  !  not  even  if  the  king  himself  fell 
down  at  my  feet,  and  implored  it.  '  Easy  mother,  bad  habits. 
Strict  mother,  good  habits  !'  " 

My  heart  swelled  within  me.  I  felt  the  extravagance  of 
Ma  chere  mere's  notions,  but  the  words —  "  wert  thou  the 
offender,  and  I  thy  real  mother,"  produced  the  most  singular 
effect  on  me.  They  converted  me  at  once  into  the  unhappy 
Malin,  and  put  me  into  her  situation.  I  suffered  with,  I 
deplored  her;  deeply  I  felt  all  the  horror  of  a  mother's 
wrath,  and  it  was  with  the  utmost  difficulty  that  I  could 
read  what  foUows. 

"  The  mother's  resentment  lay  in  the  mean  time  heavy  on 
the  heart  of  the  daughter.  Since  her  flight  from  Horning- 
sholm,  Malin  had  never  yet  worn  anything  but  mourning. 
She  had  received  from  her  husband  a  multitude  of  jewels, 
but  she  had  never  needed  them.  She  wrote  continually  the 
most  sorrowful  letters  to  her  next  of  kin,  praying  them  to  use 
their  influence  in  her  behalf.  The  incessant  prayers  of  her  sons 
and  sons-in-law,  and  at  length  the  whole  of  the  daughters 


220 


THE  NEIGHBOUllS. 


throwing  themselves  at  her  feet,  softened  Madame  Martha, 
and  she  gave  permission  for  the  two  outcast  ones  to  return/' 

Here  Ma  chere  mere  let  fall  her  net,  leaned  back  in  the 
sofa,  crossed  her  arms,  and  bowed  her  head  upon  her  bosom, 
as  it  seemed  to  me  in  deep  attention.  I  observed  all  this 
with  a  hasty  glance,  and  proceeded. 

"  It  was  now  a  year  and  a  half  since  their  marriage,  and 
nearly  three  since  their  flight.  They  were  not,  however, 
allowed  to  proceed  at  once  to  the  castle,  but  must  inhabit  for 
some  weeks  the  little  Bathhouse.  At  length,  through  the 
entreaties  of  the  brothers  and  sisters,  and  on  account  of  the 
approach  of  winter  and  the  ill  health  of  Malin,  they  were 
permitted  to  enter  the  castle.  Malin  was  conducted  into  the 
great  hall,  where  Madame  Martha  was  seated  in  the  chair  of 
state,  and  all  the  children  stood  around.  As  Malin  appeared 
at  the  door,  the  mother  exclaimed,  *  Ah !  thou  unhappy 
child  !'  Then  fell  Malin  on  her  knees,  and  so  crept  forward 
to  her  mother,  imploring  forgiveness  vdth  tears,  and  laying 
her  head  against  her  knee." 

I  paused ;  for  my  voice  trembled,  and  tears  were  nigh. 
My  heart  was  in  that  of  Malin.  At  this  moment  Ma  chere 
mere  pushed  the  table  from  her,  arose,  and  with  a  pallid 
countenance,  and  without  casting  a  glance  at  any  of  us, 
marched  with  great  strides  out  of  the  room,  and  banged  the 
door  behind  her. 

We  sate  altogether  startled  and  confounded.  "We  knew 
not  what  to  think.    Was  Ma  chere  mere  angry  ?  or  was  she 

moved  ?    Did  she  suspect  our  object  ?  or   Bear  and  I 

looked  inquiringly  at  one  another.  I  was  angry  with  myself, 
and  with  the  emotion  which  had  occasioned  me  to  interrupt 
the  reading  at  so  eventful  a  moment.  Ma  chere  mere 
through  this  had  had  time  for  reflection,  and  now  she  could  not 
hear  the  best  part  of  the  history — that  beautiful  ending  of  it ! 
Oh,  if  she  could  but  have  heard  it !  It  must  have  made  her 
feel  how  beautiful  it  is  to  be  reconciled,  and  King  Martha's 
example  would  probably  have  operated  with  her.  I  longed 
inexpressibly  for  her  return.  But  one  quarter  of  an  hour 
went  by  after  another,  and  Ma  chere  mere  came  not  back. 
Very  mournful  was  I,  as  supper  was  announced;  at  the  same 
time  it  was  announced  that  Ma  chere  mere  would  not  come  tc 
table .  She  had  headache,  and  was  already  gone  to  bed,  wishing 


FEAirSISKA  WEENER  TO  MARIA  M. 


221 


Lidi  a  good  supper,  and  a  good  night.  I  was  restless  and  out  of 
humour,  and  Bear  was  the  same.  We  knew  not  what  to  think 
of  the  position  of  things.  Immediately  after  supper  we  took 
leave  of  Jean  Jacques  and  Jane  Marie.  On  our  way  home  we 
became  rather  less  dissatisfied  with  our  evening.  Our  attempt 
ooidd  not  be  said  to  have  totally  failed.  The  reading  had 
produced  a  powerful  effect ;  and  the  excitement  which  Ma 
chere  mere  had  shown,  might  with  greater  probability  receive  a 
good  than  a  prejudicial  interpretation.  "We  resolved  that  Bear 
should  the  next  day,  under  colour  of  business  with  Jean 
Jacques,  drive  to  Carlsfors,  and  discover  how  it  stood  with 
Ma  chere  mere.  We  talked  of  the  principles  of  severity 
which  she  maintained.  I  did  battle  against  them.  I  as- 
serted that  it  is  not  irreconcilable  severity,  but  rather  wis- 
dom and  love,  which  introduce  into  a  family  virtue,  purity 
of  manners,  and  peace  on  earth. 

"That  is  the  beautiful  doctrine  of  our  time,  Tanny,"  an- 
swered Bear ;  "  but  Ma  chere  mere  belongs  to  a  period  in 
which  the  higher  classes  endeavoured  by  an  overdiiven  seve- 
rity to  make  an  embankment  against  the  growing  demorali- 
zation of  the  multitude.  She  was  educated  in  the  strictest 
principles.  Nature  and  circumstances  have  co-operated,  in 
addition,  to  confirm  and  harden  her  in  them.  The  ground 
itself  is  good,  it  is  simply  the  one-sided  conception  and  appli- 
cation         Heavens !  we  are  already  at  home !" 

To-day,  Bear  went  as  agreed  to  Carlsfors.  Ma  chere  mere 
was  not  to  be  seen  ;  still  kept  her  chamber  ;  and  announced 
through  Elsa  that  she  could  see  no  one.  What  will  come 
of  it  ?  Bruno  will  certainly  come  hither  this  evening  ;  would 
that  we  had  more  agreeable  intelligence  for  him ! 

August  28th. 

I  have  not  written  to  you  for  several  days.  I  have  been 
BO  restless.  There  is  no  change  in  Ma  chere  mere  since  I 
wrote.  Jean  Jacques,  who  with  the  acquiescence  of  Bruno 
is  made  acquainted  with  all  relating  to  the  matter,  sends  us 
daily  intelligence.  Ma  chere  mere  will  see  no  one,  continues 
shut  up  in  her  chamber,  and  all  within  is  silent  as  the  grave. 
Elsa  alone  passes  in  and  out  like  a  shadow,  and  answers  all 
inquiries  with  a  shake  of  the  head.  Bruno  has  visited  us 
every  day  in  the  most  miserable  state  of  mind.    He  comes 


222 


THE  NEIOHBOUBS. 


as  the  evening  closes  in,  asks  the  same  questions,  receives  the 
same  answers,  and  goes  away  with  the  thunderbolt  expanded 
on  his  temple,  his  eyebrows  drawn  closely  together,  and  hia 
gloomy  gaze  rivetted  on  the  earth.  Sometimes  by  night  we 
hear,  on  the  wind  from  E-amm,  the  sorrowful  but  beautiful 
sounds  which  once  delighted  me  so  much  on  Svano.  They 
rise  and  sink  like  mysterious  sighs.  It  seems  then  to  me  as 
if  there  hovered  over  the  water  a  spirit  banished  from  bliss, 
and  which  would  communicate  to  me  its  torments.  I  would 
on  no  account  that  Serena  should  hear  these  sounds.  They 
pierce  deep  into  the  heart ;  and  to  avoid  weeping,  I  am 
obliged  to  bury  my  head  in  the  pillow. 

Serena !  Oh,  she  has  probably  already  heard  more  than  ia 
for  her  quiet.  But  what  I  know  not.  It  is  singular  that 
she  should  not  let  me  know ;  and  she  is  by  no  means  of  a 
reserved  character.  She  came  last  evening  with  her  grand- 
parents. The  good  old  people  came,  they  said,  to  thank 
me  for  her.  I  thanked  them  for  her.  Grull-gul  was  with 
them,  and  ought  also  to  have  expressed  his  thanks,  upon 
which  we  joked  merrily.  But  the  little  fool  w^as  not  so  true 
as  usual  to  his  mistress,  but  flew  restlessly  in  and  out  of  the 
window  ;  at  length  he  took  his  way  across  the  lake  to  Svano, 
and  we  lost  sight  of  him.  We  waited,  in  expectation  of  his 
return,  but  in  vain.  It  grew  late  ;  and  Serena,  anxious  about 
her  little  favourite,  betook  herself  to  Svano,  in  order  to  entice 
him  back.  But  she  stayed  long,  far  too  long,  out.  We  became 
uneasy  on  her  account — I  most  of  all;  for  I  know  not  what  pre- 
sentiment it  was  which  said  to  me,  "  Bruno  has  part  in  this  de- 
lay." I  could  endure  no  longer  to  remain  in  this  uncertainty ; 
but  whispering  a  word  in  Bear's  ear,  left  him  to  entertain 
our  venerable  guests,  ran  to  the  shore,  took  a  little  boat,  and 
proceeded  in  quest  of  Serena.  I  arrived  on  Svano  precisely 
at  the  right  moment,  to  receive  Serena  half  dead  in  my  arms, 
and  to  see  Bruno  standing  there  more  like  a  pillar  of  salt 
than  a  living  man.  I  led  Serena  to  the  house.  On  the  way 
she  recovered  herself,  and  the  deathlike  stillness  resolved 
itself  into  a  flood  of  tears.  She  wept  so  excessively  and  so 
passionately  that  I  was  beside  myself.  "  Has  this  man  in- 
sulted you,  Serena  ?  I  will  detest,  I  will  not  know  any  more 
of  him!" 

"  Oh  no,  no  !"  answered  Serena ;  "  but — ^he  is  so  unhappy  !*' 


A  STEAIN'GER  LADY  TO  THE  EEADER. 


223 


I  could  leam  nothing  more  from  her,  deeplj  excited  as 
she  was.  Gull-gul  flew  twittering  between  us.  I  had  been 
quite  grieved  about  the  little  creature.  I  rowed  slowly 
on  purpose  that  Serena  might  weep  at  her  leisure.  It  was 
growing  dark  as  we  arrived.  The  old  people,  contented  to 
have  their  darling  again,  made  no  inquiries  after  the  cause  of 
her  stay.  She  became  more  composed,  and  the  twilight  con- 
cealed her  tearful  eyes.  To-day  I  have  received  a  note  from 
her  by  Bear,  in  which  she  tells  me  that  she  is  quite  calm 
again,  and  begs  me  "  not  to  be  uneasy  on  her  account,  and 
at  present  to  ask  nothing ;  in  a  while  I  shall  know  all."  For 
the  rest,  she  writes  so  kindly,  so  cordially,  it  is  impossible  to 
be  angry  with  her.  But  it  is  singular  that  we  should  both 
have  secrets  which  we  keep  from  one  another,  and  both  of 
them  secrets  which  concern  Bruno. 

Later. 

Bruno  was  here  just  now,  dark  as  ever.  He  went  away 
with  a  wild  look,  saying,  "I  shall  not  come  again.  If  any 
change  takes  place,  let  me  know  it."  He  left  us  without  an 
adieu. 

It  is  now  six  days  since  the  evening  on  which  I  read  the 
history  of  Erik  Stenbock  and  Malin  Sture,  and  Ma  chere 
mere  remains  the  same.  Ah  !  what  will  be  the  end  of  these 
things.    God  help  us  ! 

A  STEANGEE  LADY  TO  THE  EEADEE,  BUT  ESPECIALLY 
TO  THE  YOUKO  LADY  EEADEE. 

Young  maiden,  who  hast  merely  gone  botanizing  into  the 
land  of  Eomance,  and  there  picked  up  thy  knowledge  of  men 
and  of  the  world ;  who  on  thy  entrance  into  society  antici- 
patest  with  a  fearful  pleasure  that  the  men  will  busy  them- 
selves about  thee,  either  as  the  butterfly  about  the  rose,  or 
the  spider  about  the  fly — a  word  to  thee.  Be  at  rest :  the 
world  is  not  so  dangerous.  The  men  have  too  much  to  do 
with  themselves.  Thou  wilt  have  to  experience  that  they 
wiU  inquire  no  more  after  thee  than  after  the  moon,  and 
sometimes  even  less.  Thou  armest  thyself,  thou  of  seventeen 
years,  to  resist  the  storm  of  life  ;  ah !  thou  wilt  probably 
come  to  have  more  to  do  with  its  inaction.  But  let  not  thy 
courage  failj  there  are  life  and  love  in  the  world  in  richest 


224 


THE  NEIGHBOFBS. 


abundance,  but  not  often  in  the  form  in  wbich  they  for  the 
most  part  are  exhibited  in  romances.  The  romancer  distils 
life :  he  makes  a  day  out  of  ten  years,  and  out  of  a  hundred 
grains  of  corn  draws  one  drop  of  spirit :  it  is  his  trade.  The 
reality  proceeds  in  another  manner.  Karely  come  the  great 
events,  the  powerful  scenes  of  passion.  They  belong,  in  every- 
day life,  not  to  the  rule,  but  to  the  exceptions.  On  that 
account,  thou  good  creature !  sit  not  and  wait,  or  thou  wilt 
suffer  tedium.  Seek  not  the  affluence  of  life  without  thee ; 
create  it  in  thy  own  bosom.  Love !  love  the  Heaven,  Na- 
ture, Wisdom,  all  that  is  good  around  thee,  and  thy  life  will 
become  rich ;  the  sails  of  its  air-ship  will  fill  with  the  fresh 
wind,  and  so  gradually  soar  up  to  the  native  regions  of  light 
and  love. 

But  why  am  I  saying  all  this  ?  In  truth,  because,  in 
order  to  help  Madame  Werner  with  her  every-day  story — she 
wished  to  make  a  romance  of  it,  but  it  was  not  her  lot, — I 
must  now  sketch  one  of  those  exception  scenes,  which  occur 
oftener  in  boolcs  than  in  life  itself. 

It  was  evening,  and  one  of  those  evenings  in  which  a  loving 
peace  breathes  throughout  nature,  and  man  is  involuntarily 
led  to  a  feeling  and  sentiment  of  that  day  in  w^hich  all  yet 
was  good.  Grlowing  and  pure,  the  vault  of  heaven  expanded 
itself  over  the  earth  ;  and  the  earth  stood  like  a  gothic- 
crowned  and  happy  bride,  beneath  the  bride-canopy,  smiling, 
still,  and  in  full  beauty.  The  sun  shone  upon  golden  corn 
and  ruddy  fruits.  Thick- foliage d  and  hashed,  the  trees  mir- 
rored themselves  in  the  clear  lake.  Light  mists  swept 
like  veils  around  the  heights.  Here  rose  the  twitter  of  a 
bird,  and  there  the  song  of  a  child  All  seemed  full  of  enjoy- 
ment. 

It  was  then  that  Serena's  light  bark,  like  a  leaf  branch  with 
its  blossom,  floated  softly  over  the  quiet  waters.  Then  was.it, 
too,  that  an  eye  looking  from  the  grey  Ramm,  w4th  a  tele- 
scope, directed  itself  towards  the  innocent  Itosenvik.  Bruno 
sees  the  little  bark  push  from  the  shore ;  guesses  whom  it 
bears  ;  and  an  inexpressible  yearning,  a  mighty  desire  fills 
his  soul.  That  tempestuous  heart  which  long  had  beaten  in 
wild  disquiet,  that  scorched-up  feeling  which  through  days 
and  nights  of  agony  had  preyed  on  itself,  panted  after  refresh- 
ment  and  repose.  There  is  a  aimoom,  more  burning  than  that 


A  STEANGEK  LAJJY  TO  THE  EEaBEE. 


225 


of  tte  African  deserts ;  there  is  a  fountain  more  quickening 
and  thirsted  after  than  those  of  the  oases  of  these  deserts. 
Bruno  is  the  pilgrim,  consumed  with  the  fire  of  torturing 
feeling ;  Svano  is  the  oasis  in  whose  bosom  bubbles  the  fresV 
waters  of  life.  Tor  she  is  there — she  with  the  pure  heart, 
with  the  clear,  heavenly  glance — and  in  the  presence  of  her, 
of  the  gentle  woman,  in  Serena's  presence,  Bruno  yearn 
after  rest,  after  life,  longs — and — sails  forth. 

"  Hast  thou  entered  into  the  treasure-chambers  of  the 
snow  ?  or  hast  thou  seen  how  the  light  parteth  itself  ? 
Hast  thou  entered  into  the  caverns  of  the  sea  ?  Hast  thoa 
wandered  through  the  abysses  of  the  deep  ?" 

AVell  might  the  unfathomable  Creator  of  Nature  and  ot 
the  human  heart  thus  ask ;  and  well  might  the  earthly  in- 
quirer, like  Job,  lay  his  hand  on  his  mouth,  and  be  still. 
Into  the  depths  of  the  human  heart,  more  than  into  any 
other,  it  is  the  Eternal  eye  alone  which  can  penetrate,  and 
behold  how  the  light  springs  up,  and  how  night  and  storm 
come ! 

Bruno  was  like  the  climate  under  the  Line.  A  stream  of 
fire  went  through  his  soul,  and  under  its  influence  lay  all  its 
feelings.  Hence  now  this  dead  quiet,  and  then  again  this 
raging  tempest  with  its  devastating  power  ;  hence  also  this 
luxury  of  feeling,  life,  and  love,  which  sometimes  burst  fortli 
so  mightily,  and  like  the  rapid  vegetation  of  a  lava-scorched 
soil,  and  like  love  itself,  buries  in  its  breast  all  traces  of 
violence  and  offence.  And  thus  it  happened  that,  in  the 
beauty  of  the  evening,  sailing  over  the  quiet  waters  to  the 
little  island  where  goodness  and  peace  had  now^  made  their 
home,  Bruno  gathered  a  tempest  into  his  bosom,  and  felt 
burning  sensations  pass  through  his  soul  like  jagged  light- 
nings. A  secret  wrath  against  somewhat,  an  infinite  desire 
after  something,  a  fever,  a  torment,  glowed  fiercely  in  his 
bosom.  There  are  words  which  can  annihilate,  flames  which 
can  make  blessed — he  stands  on  tlie  margin  of  the  little 
island,  like  the  spirit  of  a  volcano. 

Serena  stood  beneath  an  oak.  Above  that  light  and  beau- 
tiful seraph  head  the  lofty  boughs  stretched  themselves 
lovingly.  There  lay  a  cloud  of  sadness  on  her  innocent  braw ; 
and,  sadly  smiling,  looked  she  at  Grull-gul,  which  at  the  in- 
viting tones  of  her  voice  now  descended  from  brand  to 

P 


226 


THE  NElGHBOrBS. 


branch,  and  finally  alighted  on  her  hand.  But  suddenly  he 
flow  in  alarm  awaj,  and  Bruno's  dark  tall  form  stood  before 
her.  She  blushed,  she  trembled ;  but  continued  still,  and 
looked  up  to  him  with  her  clear  Madonna  gaze.  Bruno 
looked  on  her,  and  his  soul  became  calmer  ;  that  inexpressible 
pleasure  diffused  itself  over  his  mind,  which  he  never  ex- 
perienced but  in  her  presence.  But  this  feeling  fell  now  like 
a  rose  upon  glowing  coals  ; — for  a  moment  mitigated,  in  the 
next  that  fire  drew  fresh  nutriment  from  it. 

"  Will  you  also  fly  me  ?  Will  you  too  cast  me  from  you?" 
asked  he,  with  his  dark  flaming  eyes  fixed  on  her.  And,  as 
she  still  gazed  on  him  with  an  inquiring  and  troubled  look, 
he  said,  "  Serena  !  speak  to  me  one  friendly  word.  My  soul 
needs  it." 

"  Friend  of  my  childhood !"  said  Serena,  with  her  angel's 
voice  ;  and  extended  to  him  her  hand. 

"  O  Serena!"  said  he,  while  he  raised  her  hand  to  his  lips, 
"  hear  me ;  I  must  speak  with  you !  Seat  yourself  beside 
me.  Ton  will  not  ?  Will  you  then  not  bestow  a  moment  on 
the  friend  of  your  childhood  ?" 

There  was  in  his  look  so  much  of  beseeching,  so  much  of 
anguish,  that  Serena  could  not  resist  it ;  she  seated  herself 
on  a  moss-covered  stone.  He  placed  himself  before  her  on 
his  knees ;  there  was  something  childlike,  something  tender 
and  mild,  in  his  whole  bearing.  He  gazed  on  her,  and  the 
fire  in  his  eyes  melted  into  a  feeling  of  inexpressible  tender- 
ness :  tears  glittered  there.  He  spoke  not,  but  on  his  fine 
lips  lay  fiery  and  sweet  thoughts.  They  opened,  and  he  thus 
be.souglit  her  : 

"  Say  thou  to  me,  Serena!  O  say  tliou,  as  then,  when  we 
were  children ! — children,  happy  children ;  bridegroom  and 
bride  !" 

Tears  bedewed  Serena's  depressed  eyelids,  but  she  hesi- 
tated. 

"Say  thoiiV^  implored  Bruno,  more  vehemently,  more 
fiercely.    "  Serena!  good,  lovely  Serena  !  call  me  thou 

Serena  hesitated  still.  Deeply  did  she  feel  the  consequence 
of  this  word,  and  of  this  moment. 

"  You  will  not!"  exclaimed  Bruno,  with  pain,  as  he  arose, 
his  mild  look  giving  way  to  one  of  gloomy  flame.  Serena ! 
then  am  I  totally  indifferent  to  you?" 

"  Oh  no,  no!"  rex^lied  Serena  deeply  moved. 


A  STEANGER  LADY  TO  THE  BEADEH. 


227 


^'  Xot  r"  began  Bruno  again  fierily,  and  seized  her  hand. 
O  Serena !  torture  me  no  longer.    Leave  me  not  in  this 
rending  doubt.    Oh,  speak!    Will,  can  Serena  love  me?" 

Serena  looked  at  him  with  tearful  eyes,  and  said,  "  Tes." 
Her  whole  soul  lay  in  this  answer. 

"  Oh,  then  must  you  become  mine,  heavenly  being,"  ex- 
claimed Bruno,  embracing  her  knees  with  passionate  joy. 
"  Serena,  thou  wilt,  thou  must  become  mine  !  Tremble  not. 
Spurn  me  not  from  thee,  noble  and  adored  angel !  Obey  thy 
heart,  listen  to  my  love,  and  .happiness  shall  be  thy  lot  upon 
earth.  Wherefore  tremblest  thou  ?  AVhen  thou  wast  a  child, 
I  carried  thee  about  in  my  arms  through  the  woods  of  Ramm, 
and  sprang  with  thee  over  many  a  gulf,  then  thou  didst  not 
tremble.  Oh !  as  in  the  days  of  thy  childhood,  will  I  bear 
thee  my  whole  life  through  in  my  arms,  and  hold  thee 
securely  to  my  bosom.  Let  every  doubt,  every  uncertainty, 
vanish  in  this  moment ;  we  will  bind  fate  with  our  affection. 
Serena,  give  me  now  thy  troth !  swear  to  become  mine  ; 
swear  that  henceforth  nothing  shall  separate  us." 

Bruno!  Bruno!"  said  Serena,  terrified  with  his  vehe- 
mence, "  have  you  forgotten  your  mother  my  pa- 
rents ?" 

"  Forgotten  ?  'No !  I  have  not  forgotten  them,  nor  those 
customs  and  usages  which  lay  the  life  of  the  heart  in  bondage. 
I  have  not  forgotten  them  ;  but  they  bind  me  not.  I  acknow- 
ledge a  higher  power  than  theirs,  I  know  a  higher  world  than 
that  in  which  they  rule  and  fetter.  But  I  understand  thy 
anxiety.  Like  the  flower  on  the  island  here,  hast  thou 
grovm  up,  till  thou  hast  ceased  to  feel  and  believe  that  there 
is  a  world  beyond  it.  But  the  world  is  gr-eat,  Serena  ;  and 
for  two  hearts  which  beat  in  unison,  there  are  a  hundred  open 
paradises.  There  are  finer  climes  than  this  in  which  thou 
wert  born ;  other  religions,  other  manners — but  the  sun  and 
love  rule  everywhere.  I  have  seen  this  more  beautiful  world. 
I  have  seen  there  the  life  free  from  fetters — millions  of  beings 
live  in  this  atmosphere  of  freedom,  and  obey  only  the  dictates 
of  the  heart  " 

"  And  were  they  happy,  Bruno  ?  were  they  contented, 
these  beings  who  had  renounced  all  the  commands  of  heaven, 
all  the  bonds  of  duty  ?  Were  you  yourself  happy  in  ihk 
world  which  you  extol  so  highlv  ?" 

r"2 


228 


THE  KETGIIBOTJES. 


"  Happy  ! — no,  that  was  1  not ;  because  I  had  found  no 

Serena.    But  now  oh,  hear  me,  Serena!  and  reflect  that 

my  life  depends  upon  thy  answer.  If  everything  should 
oppose  itself  to  our  union,  wilt  thou  not,  despite  of  all,  yet 
become  mine  ?  Or  say,  what  better  can  life  offer  thee  than 
boundless  love  ?  Life,  Serena,  is  poor,  is  miserable,  when 
love  exalts  it  not.  That  Almighty  Being  who  implanted  in 
us  the  necessity  of  happiness,  he  has  not  commanded  us  to 
renounce  it.  He  who  kindled  the  leading  star  of  love  in  the 
heart,  cannot  desire  that  we  should  contemn  its  guidance. 
Serena,  I  love  thee !  I  will  lay  my  soul  in  thy  hand,  and 
say,  '  Do  with  it  what  thou  wilt,  but  be  mine  for  ever !'  Oh, 
let  me  conduct  thee  out  of  this  narrow  corner  of  the  world, 
where  thy  life  will  wither  and  fade  away ;  let  me  introduce 
thee  to  a  life  of  freedom  and  joy.  Give  me  thy  hand,  as 
thou  hast  given  me  thy  heart ;  become  in  another  country, 
under  a  fairer  heaven,  my  wife.  Thy  path  shall  be  strewn 
with  roses  ;  riches  shall  be  at  thy  command  ;  thou  shalt  open 
thy  hand,  and  make  men  happy ;  and  I  will  thank  thee  for 
all,  for  everything,  with  a  iove  which  shall  have  no  counter- 
part on  earth.  I  will  create  thee  a  Paradise  out  of  whatever 
is  beautiful  in  nature,  and  what  is  good  and  joyful  in  life. 
Serena,  what  canst  thou  there  find  wanting  P^' 

"  Peace !"  answered  Serena  as  she  arose,  and  her  bosom 
laboured  with  desperate  emotion — "  peace  with  myself!  peace 
with  heaven  1" 

"  So  !"  said  Bruno  slowly,  as  he  also  arose,  and  fixed  his 
flashing  eyes  with  an  indescribable  expression  of  scornful 
reproach  on  Serena — "  so,  Serena,  thou  also  art  but  one  of 
the  ordinary  tribe  of  women  !  Thy  love  is  but  a  house-lamp, 
a  faint  and  timid  flame,  w^hich  can  only  burn  in  a  well-closed 
room.  Thou  wilt  not  make  me  happy — thou  wilt  not  follow 
the  dictates  of  thy  heart,  since  thou  tremblest  for  thy  eternal 
salvation  !  Thou  wilt  not  make  the  slightest  ofiering  for  him 
who  is  ready  to  sacrifice  everything  for  thee.  And  this  ia 
called  virtue  !    Oh  !  weak,  miserable  selfishness  !   But  listen'^ 

 and  he  approached  her  with  a  daring  wildness — "  I  wall 

teach  thee  that  which  love,  true  love,  is  !  And  yet  perhaps 
thou  dost  not  understand  me,  pious  maiden.  Knowest  thou 
what  sacrifice  he  who  truly  loves  can  make  without  a 
thought  ?  Yes,  even  his  eternal  happiness  !  Oh  !  that  thou 
wert  doomed  to  the  deepest  and  most  fiery  gulf  of  hell !  I 


A  STEANGEK  uXD  T  TO  THE  EEADER. 


229 


would,  witli  boundless  joy,  plunge  myself  in,  that  I  miglit  be 
damned  with  thee,  and  there  with  thee,  with  thee  in  the  bot- 
tomless abyss,  I  would  despise  the  thunders,  and  the  felicity 
of  heaven !  But  thou  comprehendest  me  not — thou  knowest 
not  what  love  is  !" 

Serena  leaned  her  forehead  on  her  hand ;  a  terrible  con- 
vulsion raged  in  her  spirit.  Xight  and  lightnings  alternated 
there.  Ah !  Serena  knew  what  true  love  was,  and  Bruno's 
words  found  an  echo  in  her  soul.  For  a  moment  its  trans- 
parency became  clouded,  and  the  mighty  consequences  of  this 
sacrifice  were  no  longer  clear  in  it.  In  a  feeling  of  inexpres- 
sible anguish  she  raised  her  eyes  and  her  clasped  hands  to- 
wards heaven,  and  spoke  as  if  unconsciously.  "  They  would 
be  miserable  ;  they  wou^d  get  up  in  the  morning  and  find 
me  not ;  they  would  go  to  bed  with  tears  for  their  child  !" 

Bruno  saw  that  which  was  passing  in  her  heart.  Demoniac 
powers  took  possession  of  his  soul,  and  they  exulted  as  they 
saw  her  waver ;  and  in  his  eyes  were  flames,  and  in  his  voice 
a  tone,  boldly  insinuating — before  such,  angels  have  liillen ! 

"  Oh,  Serena !  let  no  childish  weakness  misguide  thee,  to 
belie  thy  own  heart.  Be  strong,  be  true  to  thy  love,  and 
confide  in  me.  Be  mine,  and  I  will  recompense  every  pain, 
I  will  change  every  sigh  which  disturbs  thee  into  happiness. 
Away  with  pusillanimous  fear !  Conquer,  conquer,  my  Se- 
rena, the  ordinary  weakness  of  thy  sex.  Grive  me  that 
assurance,  that  oath  which  will  elevate  me  above  all  the 
changes  of  fortune,  all  the  menaces  of  fate ;  which  will  confer 
a  home  on  the  banished,  blessings  on  the  cursed,  and  peace 
on  my  heart.  Oh,  my  Serena!  why  hesitate,  why  waver? 
Art  thou  not  already  mine  ?  Have  not  our  souls  been  united 
ever  since  our  childhood  ?  Are  they  not  now  warmed  with 
one  flame  ?  Serena,  we  are  already  one !  one  before  Him 
who  poureth  his  love  into  our  hearts.  Or,  dost  thou  believe 
that  they  could  be  separated  ?  Never,  Serena !  beloved  as 
my  own  life,  thou  art  mine !  mine !" 

He  had  seized  her  hand ;  with  a  passionate  and  irresistible 
force  he  drew  her  closer  to  his  bosom.  There  are  hidden, 
marvellous  inspirations,  through  which  the  tempted  but  pure 
spirit  receives  strength  to  triumph  over  even  that  which  is 
dearest  to  it.  It  was  such  which  sprung  up  in  Serena's  soul, 
and  filled  it  at  once  with  desperation  and  divine  light.  To 


230 


resist  Bruno's  power,  she  must  tear  herself  loose  from  hiro ; 
and  to  his  woMs — "Thou  art  mine,  mine!"  she  answered 
shuddering, — •*  No,  I  love  you  not  i" 

"Thou  mayst  think  so,"  exclaimed  Bruno  with  a  demoniac 
smile,  "  but  thou  deceivest  thyself."  He  embraced  her, 
pressed  his  hand  on  her  heart,  and  proceeded  with  a  trium- 
phant expression — "  Thou  lovest  me,  as  I  love  thee  I  By  the 
beating  of  this  heart  I  swear,  that  if  thou  refusest  me,  this 
Jove  will  blanch  thy  cheek,  and  my  misery  w^ill  become  thine. 
In  vain  dost  thou  resist  me  ;  in  vain  dost  thou  deceive  thy- 
self. As  certain  as  thy  heart  beats  beneath  my  hand,  has  a 
higher  power  united  our  fates.  Eesist  it  not.  It  is  in  vain, 
Serena  :  thou  art  mine  1" 

Serena  stood  motionless ;  her  dark  eyelashes  sunk  upon 
her  pale  cheeks  ;  fainter  and  fainter  beat  her  heart  beneath 
Bruno's  burning  hand ;  yet,  like  the  whispering  of  a  spirit, 
clear,  soft,  awfully  and  marvellously  penetrating,  issued  from 
her  lips  the  words,  "  No,  I  love  thee  not !" 

An  icy  chill  went  through  Bruno's  veins.  A  voice  like 
this,  words  thus  pronounced,  he  had  never  yet  experienced  ; 
and  Serena  leaned  like  a  marble  image  on  his  breast,  so  cold, 
so  still,  so — dead.  He  released  her  ;  he  gazed  on  her  with  a 
wild  dismay.  "  I  love  thee  not  I"  repeated  Serena,  and 
stepped  backward,  her  cheeks  assuming  every  momenta  more 
deathly  paleness,  her  heart  beating  ever  fainter. 

"  Serena  1"  shouted  Bruno,  with  a  voice  which  might  have 
awakened  the  dead  from  their  everlasting  sleep.  Serena 
sighed  deeply,  deeply.  "  No,  I  love  thee  not !"  repeated  she 
yet  again,  with  a  firmer  and  clearer  tone.  Her  knees  failed 
her ;  she  would  have  fallen  to  the  ground  if  Eransiska  had 
not  arrived  at  that  moment,  and  received  her  into  her  arms. 

BEUlSrO  TO  SEREIS'A. 

Yet  once  more  these  words  ! — Speak  them  once  again,  ana 
no  sigh  of  love  or  pain  on  my  part  shall  ever  disturb  your  quiet 
more.  But,  Serena!  if  you  deceived  me,  if  you  deceived  yourself 
in  that  moment,  if  your  heart  abjures  the  words  which  your  lips 
spoke,  then  hear  me  yet  this  once.  My  impetuosity  wounded 
you.  Eorgive  me  this,  Serena ;  it  is  now  passed,  I  am  quiet  • 
and  at  tue  same  time,  this  restlesSj  this  thirsting  heart  yearoa 


SERENA  TO  BRUNO. 


231 


for  tbe  belief  that  it  beats  not  alone  !  and  if  umvorthy  of  it, 
^^^il  .1  still  believe  that  I  am  beloved.  I  stand  on  tlie  crisis 
of  my  life.  Love  alone  can  save  me.  I  have  a  mother  ;  I 
have  trespassed  against  her,  and  she  has  cursed  me.  I  hope 
not  for  reconciliation  with  her,  although  I  seek  it.  If  this 
be  denied  me,  shall  I  then  despair,  Serena  ?  Will  no  dear 
heart  bind  me  fast  to  life  ?  Will  no  angel  follow  me  into  the 
wilderness  ?  O  Serena !  dost  thou  love  me,  and  hast  thou 
not  courage  to  share  my  fate  ?  See,  I  will  not  adorn  tho 
prospect  of  our  future  ;  I  will  not  invite  thee  to  share  happi- 
ness and  joy  ;  I  call  thee  to  a  participation  of  sorrow  and 
tears.  Perhaps  our  future  may  be  dark ;  perhaps  thy  heart 
may  never  find  peace  on  my  bosom  ;  perhaps,  even  thy  cheeks 
blanch  beneath  my  kisses,  but  yet — yet  I  ask  thee,  Serena, 
hast  thou  not  courage,  not  love  enough,  with  me,  and  for 
me,  to  suffer  ?  Serena !  there  are  sufierings,  sufferings  to 
tlie  death,  which  are  not  bitter,  which  possess  their  own  great, 
their  marvellous  enjoyment.  Grreat  is  the  power  of  love,  even 
to  m.ake  happy  the  night  of  pain.  Yet  how  ?  When  the 
rejected  one  breathes  peacefully  at  thy  side  ;  w^hen  his  eye, 
through  thee,  raises  itself  towards  a  heaven  where  dwell 
mercy  and  love,  and  when  this  eye  then  rests  on  thee  with 
infinite  thanks  and  blessings — Serena,  couldst  thou  then  be 
unhappy  ?  And  if  even  thy  cheek  grew  pale,  if  thou  leanedst 
thy  head  against  a  bosom  which  was  filled  with  thee  alone ; 
and  if  in  death  thy  gaze  met  a  look  of  unspeakable  love,  which 
living  only  in  thee,  with  thee  will  be  extinguished,  and  on  re- 
awaking  seek  only  thee  ? — Oh^  Serena  !  together  to  love,  to 
suffer,  to  enjoy,  together  to  die,  to  be  one  here  and  beyond 
the  grave, — this  was  my  dream  as  I  saw  thee.  Was  it  a 
dream  ?  Oh,  Serena !  was  it  a  dream  which  I  felt  as  the 
reality  of  my  existence,  as  the  solution  of  its  yet  uncompre- 
liended  enigma  ?  Serena  !  answer  me  with  the  truth  which 
lived  so  beautifully  on  thy  childish  lips, — I  ask  once  uiore, 
was  it  a  dream  ?  Say  no !  and  be  mine.  Or  repeat  your  last 
words. 

SERENA  TO  BRUNO. 

No,  Eruno !  I  will  not  repeat  those  wwds !  They  were 
not  the  truth.  It  was  the  fear  of  my  own  weakness  which 
called  them  forth.    If  it  can  do  you  good,  Bruno — if  it  can  be 


232 


THE  ISTEIGHBOrES. 


a  solace  to  your  heart,  then  receive  my  assurance — I  lov€ 
you  !  To  share  life  and  sorrow  with  you  would  be  happiness 
for  me.  But,  Bruno,  hear  this  my  last  word.  I  write  to  you 
by  the  bed  of  my  grandparents'  rest.  They  slumber  softly;  my 
voice  has  soothed  them  to  repose.  The  light  of  the  lamp  falls 
on  their  reverence-inspiring  heads,  and  illumines  their  grey 
hairs.  Bruno,  here  is  my  post,  and  I  will  not  move  from  it, 
let  my  heart  suffer  what  it  will.  To  make  glad  and  peaceful 
the  life  of  the  two  aged  parents,  who  have  cherished  my  child- 
hood and  my  whole  life  till  now,  that  is  my  office  and  my 
dearest  duty.  The  lamp  which  enlightens  the  evening  of 
their  days.  Providence  has  placed  in  my  hands,  and  I  will 
protect  it  faithfully  to  my  last  sigh.  O  Bruno !  if  you  will 
win  me,  you  must  first  win  these.  Only  when  they  can  with 
joy  lay  my  hand  in  yours,  can  I  joyfully  and  confidently 
consent  to  it.    The  way  to  me  is  through  them. 

And  if  this  must  be  for  you  a  parting  salutation,  then  faro 
you  well,  Bruno !  Grod  bless  you  !  "Wherever  your  path 
may  lead,  think  that  a  true  and  sympathising  heart  follows 
you  with  blessings  and  prayers. 

Bruno !  friend  of  my  childhood  !    I  would  say  something 
which  should  give  you  peace.    I  fear  that  you  deem  me  cold 
and  indifferent.    That  pains  me.    But  I  know  that  there 
another  and  a  better  world;  there  will  you  better  read  my 
heart — there  will  you  pardon  your 

Seeena. 

CHAPTEE  XII. 

FRANSISKA  WERNEB  TO  MARIA  M  . 

Kosenvik,  August  31st. 
For  two  days  after  I  last  wrote  to  you  we  waited  in  great 
uneasiness;  but  as  not  the  slightest  change  in  the  state  of  Ma 
chere  mere  was  made  known  to  us.  Bear  proceeded  to  Carls 
fors,  and  spoke  sternly  to  Elsa,  so  as  to  make  her  talk.  Then 
spoke  she  out  plainly,  that  Ma  chere  mere  was  very  much 
the  same  as  she  was  fifteen  years  ago.  She  does  not  sleep 
of  nights,  speaks  not,  eats  and  drinks  next  to  nothing.  She 
has  the  room  kept  dark,  sits  constantly  with  her  face  pressed 
or.  her  hand,  and  sighs  soiiietim.es  as  if  her  heart  would  break. 


FliAI^SISKA  WERXER  TO  MAEIA  M. 


For  the  rest,  she  has  forbidden  Elsa  to  speak  a  word  to  any 
one  concerning  her. 

''This  must  not  continue,"  exclaimed  Bear,  when  he  had 
related  these  particulars.  "  It  may  become  a  relapse  into  tho 
old  complaint.  AYe  must  by  some  means  break  the  spell,  and 
this  mnst  be  done — through  you,  Fanuy." 

"Through  me?"  I  exclaimed,  starting  back.  I  am  per- 
suaded that  I  was  pale  as  death. 

"  Yes,  tlirough  you !  You  know  well,  you  sea-cat,  that  no 
one  stands  so  well  with  Ma  chere  mere  as  you.  No  one 
possesses  so  mnch  influence  over  her  heart.  Use  it  now. 
You  must  break  through  her  door,  and  into  her  bosom.  Yes; 
you  must  do  it,  and  you  must  also  go  as  boldly  and  as  cir- 
cumspectly about  it  as  a  thief  in  the  night." 

"  But  the  picklock.  Bear,  the  picklock  !  How  am  I  to  pass 
through  her  bolted  doors,  and  into  her  more  bolted  heart  ?" 

"  Through  her  doors  ? — Elsa  will  leave  them  open  for  yotL- 
I  have  spoken  with  her  about  it.  And  how  into  her  heart  ? 
Let  your  own  become  warm,  and  your  tongue  will  find  worda 
which  will  penetrate  through  bone  and  marrow." 

"Ah,  Bear!" 

"  And  you  must  not  permit  yourself  to  be  frightened  away 
by  any  hasty  expressions,  by  any  angry  look.  Have  courage  ; 
be  steadfast,  strong,  and  tender.  Think  on  Bruno  !  Think 
on  the  reconcilement  of  mother  and  son  !  Yes,  just  so  must 
you  look,  just  so  must  you  feel,  and  you  will  achieve  a  good 
work,  Fanny;  or,  at  least,  will  force  this  gloomy  pain  to  effu- 
sion, which,  if  it  continue  as  it  is,  will  conduct  lier  to  mad- 
ness." 

Sweet  is  the  voice  of  flattery,  and  especially  when  one 
hears  it  from  one's  better-half.  I  suflered  myself  to  be  per- 
suaded to  dare  the  attempt ;  but  courageous  was  I  by  no 
means.  To  force  myself  into  Ma  chere  mere's  chamber,  con- 
trary to  her  most  positive  command,  and  to  appear  before 
her  hu  ! 

We  determined  further,  that  Bruno  during  my  interview 
should  wait  in  Jean  Jacques'  room,  so  that,  if  it  took  an 
auspicious  turn,  he  might  immediately  throw  himself  at  his 
mother's  feet.  Should  a  kindly  sentiment  be  excited  in  her 
heart,  we  must  not  give  it  time  to  cool — we  must  strike  while 
the  iron  is  hot.    Bear  wrote  to  Bruno  on  this  proposition, 


THE  KEIGnBOURS. 


who  answered  merxly  with  these  words — "  I  agree  with  you, 
and  will  be  there."  The  next  day  was  fixed  for  the  fearful 
interview.  JSTo  sleep  came  that  night  into  my  eyes,  ajid  I 
was  once  on  the  very  point  of  waking  Bear,  and  telling  him 
that  I  really  had  not  the  courage  to  "  sit  between"  in  the  aff'air. 
But  I  heard  again  the  wonderful,  sorrowful  tones  from  the 
unhappy  anchorite  at  E^amm.  They  sounded  imploringly. 
1  recollected  Bruno's  tears,  and  his  prayer — "  Reconcile  me 
with  my  mother;"  and  I  determined  firmly  to  submit  myself 
to  Bear's  requiring:  but  I  was  still  in  a  thousand  troubles 
how  I  should  carry  the  matter  through.  "  I  should  say  what 
my  heart  dictated,"  said  Bear;  but  my  head  would  also  play 
its  part,  and  act  the  tutor  of  the  heart,  and  reject  its  some- 
what uncertain  plan,  and  prescribe  speeches  with  which  the 
heart  had  nothing  to  do.  So  disputed  head  and  heart  till  the 
moment  tliat  we  must  set  out.  My  situation  was  by  no 
means  to  be  envied,  but  I  said  nothing  to  Bear ;  I  would  not 
disquiet  him  with  my  own  disquiet. 

We  set  out.  It  was  Sunday.  The  bells  rung  with  such 
a  friendly  solemnity  through  the  quiet  air.  Country  people 
in  holiday  garb,  with  Prayer-books  in  their  hands,  met  us  on 
the  way.  They  looked  so  peaceful,  so  contented,  as  they 
went  to  the  temple  of  the  Lord.  I  envied  them  ;  and  the 
nearer  we  approached  Carlsfors,  the  farther  I  wished  myself 
from  it.  As  Bear  took  my  hand  to  help  me  from  the  carriage, 
I  trembled  in  every  limb.  The  cunning  Bear  said  nothing, 
asked  nothing,  but  only  pressed  my  hand. 

Bruno  was  already  with  Jean  Jacques.  I  was  terrified  at 
his  paleness,  and  at  the  change  in  his  appearance  ;  but  I  said 
nothing.  He  also  was  silent.  Jane  Slarie  was,  as  I  fancy, 
somewhat  offended,  on  account  of  the  greater  trust  which 
had  been  put  in  me,  and  said  something  of  having  "  too 
much  self-confidence."  Oh,  my  Grod  !  that  now  I  certainly 
had  not.  I  had  rather  have  been  in  Mesopotamia  keep- 
ing sheep  than  thus  to  step  before  Ma  chere  mere  as  a 
mediator.  After  we  had  talked  awhile  about  notliing  and 
with  long  pauses  between,  Bear  fixed  on  me  his  still,  solemn 
gaze.  There  was  legible  in  it  Now  !"  I  arose.  I  regarded 
myself  as  a  sacrifice.  Tremblingly  I  made  some  steps  to- 
wards the  door.  Suddenly  I  found  myself  in  Bruno's  arms, 
who,  with  his  deep,  povverfuHy  penetrating  tone,  said — "  A 


FEANSISKA  WEENEK  TO  MAEIA  M. 


235 


blessing  on  tbv  proceeding  '  Blessed  be  the  \Tords  of  -pea 
on  thy  lips  !  My  life  depends  npon  them!"  And  the  sin- 
gular man  pressed  me  passionately  to  his  bosom,  and  his  teara 
fell  on  my  brow.  I  stood  there  surprised  and  moved  as 
Bruno  drew  me  to  him,  kissed  me,  and  said  softly  and  fer- 
vently—" God  bless  thee  !" 

He  did  so.  From  this  moment,  all  fear,  all  reluctance, 
left  me.  I  was  totally  changed.  My  heart  became  strong  ; 
and  with  firm  and  light  steps  I  advanced  to  the  room  where 
Ma  chere  mere  sate  in  her  darkness.  I  threw  out  no  further 
plan  as  to  what  I  should  say  or  do ;  I  left  it  all  to  the  in- 
spiration of  the  moment. 

Before  the  door  of  the  boudoir  stood  Elsa,  motionless, 
silent,  and  like  a  mummy.  She  gave  me  a  sign  tliat  she  un- 
derstood my  purpose,  and  wished  me  success.  She  had  left 
the  door  open,  and  I  glid  softly  into  the  boudoir.  It  was 
empty  and  dark.  The  blinds  were  let  down.  Softly  I  opened 
the  door  of  the  sleeping-room ;  and  as  I  entered  that  great 
dark  chamber,  I  was  shocked  to  see  Ma  chere  mere  lying  on 
the  floor.  At  my  entrance  she  raised  her  head,  and  looked 
at  me  with  a  gaze  so  wild  and  disordered  that  I  shuddered. 
Yet  I  drew  some  steps  nearer,  and  said  with  a  tender  un- 
easiness, "  Is  Ma  chere  mere  unwell  ?"  She  raised  herself 
completely  on  her  feet,  and  the  cap  seemed  to  lift  itself  on 
her  head.  She  rushed  towards  me,  her  nose  contracted  and 
pale,  her  breath  whistling,  and  her  whole  bearing  so  menacing, 
that  she  must  have  terrified  one  less  brave  than  I  was  at  this 
moment. 

"  How  darest  thou  to  break  into  my  chamber  ?  How 
canst  thou  dare  to  disturb  me  demanded  she,  wild  and 
stern,  as  she  drew  near  me. 

"  I  did  not  find  Ma  chere  mere  without,  and  therefore  I 
came  hither,"  said  I,  as  composedly  as  possible,  and  without 
giving  back  a  step.  She  gazed  at  me  a  moment,  while  she 
seemed  to  collect  herself;  after  which  she  said  quietly,  and 
as  it  were  to  herself :  "  I  had  probably  forgotten  to  bolt 
the  door — • — stupid !"  She  went  away  from  me  ;  opened  the 
drawer  of  bureau,  and  appeared  as  though  she  would  lay 
something  in  it  which  she  held  in  her  hand,  but  she  let  it  fall 
cn  the  floor,  and  it  rolled  towards  me.  I  stooped  and  took 
it  up.    Ma  chere  mere  approached  me  with  tKe  e,\])reshXon 


236 


THE  NllGHBOUES. 


of  a  liysBna,  and  wished,  I  fancy,  to  snatch  it  out  of  my  hand 
but  I  regarded  attentively  the  little  medallion  on  which  the 
lovely  head  of  a  child  was  painted,  and  said  with  a  degree  of 
ease  which  I  now  can  scarcely  comprehend,  "  What  a  beau- 
tiful child 

Ma  chere  mere  stood  st^Jl.  She  appeared  highly  excited, 
yet  in  a  softer  mood.  She  took  the  medallion  gently  out  of 
my  hand,  but  held  it  so  that  I  might  observe  it  with  her,  and 
said — "  Yes,  yes,  indeed  a  lovely  child.  Ah  !  the  crown  of  all 
children !  Dost  thou  know  the  name  of  the  boy,  Fransiska — ■ 
dost  thou  know  his  name  ?  Dost  thou  know  whose  child  he 
was?    Say  !    Dost  thou  know  it ;  dost  thou  know  it 

She  looked  with  a  keen  inquiring  glance  into  my  face.  I 
was  obliged  to  cast  down  my  eyes  before  her  penetrating 
gaze,  as  I  answered  No !"  according  to  the  literal  truth, 
though  I  guessed  who  it  was. 

"  His  name  was  Bruno,"  began  Ma  cliere  mere.  "  He  was 

my  only  son !    Mine,  mine  "  and  here  she  pressed  my 

shoulders  together  between  her  hands  till  I  thought  she 
would  have  crushed  them.  ^'  He  was  my  only  son,"  con- 
tinued she,  as  she  withdrew  her  hands  from  me  and  raised 
them  towards  heaven — "  to-day  is  the  day  on  which  I  gave 
him  birth."  She  was  silent ;  and  then  proceeding  again  as  if 
speaking  to  herself,  and  with  an  expression  which  rent  my 
soul — "  This  day  three-and-thirty  years  I  gave  him  birth. 
With  deadliest  pangs  I  gave  him  life !    Oh,  that  I  had  died 

at  that  moment !  for  he !  oh  !  but  he  was  my  pride,  my 

proud  joy,  my  boast,  my  all !    He  was  more  to  me  than  God ! 

Oh!  the  Lord  has  smitten  down  my  pride  no,  not  he,  but 

the  devil.  The  devil  smote  my  strength,  and  took  my  child. 
Oh  !  children  give  to  our  hearts  life  and  death ;  mine  gave 
worse  than  death."  Here  she  crossed  her  arms  over  her 
breast,  and  sunk  her  head  low,  as  if  crushed  to  the  earth  with 
sorrow.  As  she  raised  herself  again,  she  turned  to  me  with 
a  sharp,  penetrating  look,  and  said,  "  Thou  knowest  what  has 
ha{)pened,  Fransiska.  Thou  knowest  all  about  him.  Deny 
it  not.  Thy  husband  knows  it,  and  man  and  wife  are  one. 
Thou  knowest  it:  I  see  it  in  the  bottom  of  thy  soul!" 

I  did  not  deny  it ;  my  look  spoke  for  me.  1  drew  near  tc 
Ma  chere  mere;  my  heart  was  warmed  towards  her;  she  laid 
her  hand  on  my  shoulder,  and  said,  "  God  protect  thea* 


FltATiTSlSKA  WEE^fER  TO  MABIA  M. 


237 


Fransiska,  from  ever  suffering  what  I  have  suffered ,  from 
feeling  that  which  I  have  felt,  and  that  which  I  now  feel. 
God  preserve  thee  from  it !  Child  !  child  !  it  is  not  good 
when  the  heart  of  a  mother  is  converted  into  hate  against 
that  to  which  she  once  gave  life,  when  her  bosom  must  repel 

that  which  once  drew  its  nutriment  thence  1  tell  thee  it 

is  not  good.  What  wishes  the  happy  mother  for  her  chil- 
dren ?  That  the  J  may  live  loug  on  the  eartl\ ;  that  they  may 
settle  near,  and  dwell  around  lier ;  that  they  may  receive  her 
last  breath,  and  close  her  eyelids  when  her  last  hour  is  come. 
Yes,  that  wishes  she.  But  what  do  I  wish  for  my  only  son  ? 
Tes,  that  "  and  her  countenance  assumed  a  terrible  ex- 
pression— "  that  he  may  be  dead  ;  that  he  may  lie  deep  in 
the  earth,  or  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea  ;  that  these  eyes  may 
never  more  see  him ;  these  ears  may  never  hear  his  voice ! 
Oh  !  that  he  were  dead,  dead,  dead  !" 

I  shuddered  at  these  wild  and  desperate  words,  and  in  the 
highest  state  of  excitement  of  mind  the  wretched  mother 
proceeded. 

"  If  the  son  goes  from  the  father's  house  into  the  wide 
world,  what  does  the  mother  give  him  with  him  on  his  long 
journey  ?  She  gives  him  blessings  ;  she  gives  him  the  best 
the  house  contains  with  him,  and  she  follows  him  to  the  door 
with  tears,  and  kisses,  and  names  full  of  love.  Yes,  this  does 
she  ;  but  to  my  only  son  gave  I  my  curse.  That  w^as  all,  be- 
sides his  life,  which  he  carried  with  him  from  me  into  the 
wide,  wild  world.  I  cursed  my  only  child !  Seest  thou,"  she 
continued,  with  ever-growing  wildness,  "  I  had  laid  upon  his 
head  all  my  love,  my  honour,  my  pride, — and  he  heaped 
shame  upon  mine.  Shame  heaped  he  on  the  head  of  his 
mother.  See !"  and  she  rent  the  cap  from  her  head  and  cast 
it  fiercely  on  the  floor,  while  the  grey,  yes,  nearly  snow-white 
hair  fell  down  in  waves  on  her  shoulders — "see!  grief  has 
strown  its  ashes  on  my  hair.  Before,  it  was  black,  but  in 
one  night  fell  snow — it  is  now  become  white.  The  son  has 
bleached  the  hair  of  his  mother.  He  caused  that  the  people 
pointed  with  the  finger  at  her,  and  said — '  See !  she  was  the 
mother  of  a  thief!'    Ought  she  not  to  curse  him  ?" 

"Ah!  he  was  yet  so  young"  1  stammered  forth  

"he"  1  could  scarcely  speak.    Ma  chere  mere  h'^ard  me 

act,  but  went  on,  addressing  rather  herself  than  me.    "  Yes, 


2B8 


THE  NEIGIIEOTJRS. 


my  hair  became  grey ;  but  what  did  not  become  grey !  my 
colour,  my  soul,  the  who-e  world  !  When  the  curse  was  pro- 
nounced, and  the  cursed  one  was  gone  forth,  and  no  one 
knew  whither, — then  came  a  wondrous  time.  It  became 
dark  in  me,  and  I  sat  in  the  dark  ;  and  days — months — years 

went  round,  and  1  knew  only  that  all  was  dark  dark  as 

the  crime,  and  the  curse !  I  thought  that  the  spark  of  life 
would  perish  in  the  darkness  ;  but  it  was  stronger  than  the 
darkness,  and  than  care — and  I  issued  from  the  darkness,  and 
beheld  the  light  again.  I  learned  at  least  to  bear.  I  sought 
to  forget  him,  I  thought  he  is  dead  !" 

My  tears  flowed ;  my  whole  soul  was  broken  with  emotion  ; 
and  I  exclaimed,  "  Oh,  the  unhappy  one !  He  wandered 
about  an  outcast,  and  found  perhaps  neither  bread  nor  a 
home.  He  died,  perhaps,  on  foreign  ground,  and  thought  of 
his  mother,  and  yearned  to  press  her  hand  to  his  lips,  and  to 
receive  pardon.    And  she  oh,  the  poor  !" 

Ma  chere  mere  was  deadly  pale,  and  trembled  violently ; 
she  seemed  with  difficulty  to  breathe.  "Eransiska!"  she 
said  at  length  with  a  strong  voice,  "  Fransiska  !  cease  these 
unnecessary  lamentations  !  Bread,  he  needed  not  want.  He 
could  work.  He  was  a  man,  and  already  in  his  growing  years 
strong  as  a  lion.  Home  ? — that  he  did  not  seek.  His  mind 
drew  him  towards  the  wild  world,  and  that  has  probably 
yielded  him  sufficient.  But  the  curse"  here  slie  ap- 
proached me,  wliile  tears  trembled  in  her  large  eyes,  and  laid 
lier  hand  upon  niy  head — "  the  curse  has  my  heart  removed 
from  him.  When  it  was  pronounced,  I  thirsted  to  call  it 
back  again  ;  and  I  should  have  done  it,  Fransiska,  then,  if  he 
had  borne  patiently  the  punishment,  and  the  penance  which 
his  crime  demanded.  For  that  purpose  I  sought  him  in  the 
night ;  but  he  was  gone.  He  fled  from  forgiveness,  and 
would  not  deserve  it ;  but  I  have  laid  it  down  on  his  grave. 
There  it  lingers  with  fche  sun,  and  with  the  flowers,  and  gives 
him  peace.  Yet  sometimes,  when  the  recollection  and  the 
anguish  seize  me,  so  that  my  bosom  will  tear  asunder,  and  it 
whirls  in  my  brain,  and  I  know  not  what  I  do,  then  at  times 
I  utter  the  curse — ^but  after  that  I  bless.  Or  what  dost  thou 
imagine  that  I  did  as  I  lay  in  the  dust  like  a  worm  before  oui 
Lord,  the  picture  of  my  son  pressed  to  my  heart  ?  Thinkest 
thou  that  I  cursed  him  ?    Peace  !  peace  be  with  his  ashes  !'' 


TRAySISKA  WEE^sER  TO  MARIA  M. 


239 


"  And  if  he  yet  should  liver"  said  I,  with  a  feeling  I 

cannot  describe, — "  il'  he  yet  live  ;  and  through  many  suffer- 
ings have  atoned  for  the  sin  of  his  youth ;  if  he  long,  more 
than  for  all  the  honours  of  the  world,  to  receive  the  pard(  n 
of  his  mother,  to  clasp  her  once  more  to  his  breast  ?" 

Ma  chere  mere  stepped  back  rigid  and  pale,  her  eyes 
flashed  fearfully,  and  she  made  a  repelling  motion  with  the 

hand,  and  she  said,  "  Is  it  so,  Transiska  ?  hast  thou 

heard  that  he  lives  ?"  and  her  voice  trembled  ;  "  knowest 

thou  that  which  he  seeks  and  intends  ?  Tell  him  to  come  no 
more  to  the  country  which  would  be  ashamed  of  him  !  That 
he  bear  not  the  name  which  he  has  dishonoured ;  that  he 
shall  not  dare  to  come  into  the  presence  of  his  mother,  whom 
he  has  covered  with  disgrace.  But  tell  him  that  I  have  re- 
voked the  curse.  I  will  transmit  him  the  half  of  my  property 
to  a  foreign  land.  He  may  write  to  me,  and  require  what 
he  will ;  and  I  will  lend  him  what  he  will ;  but — on  my 
threshold  he  shall  not  set  his  foot !" 

I  bent  my  knee,  and  embraced  hers.  "  Mother  !  mother !" 
I  exclaimed,  nearly  beside  myself,  ^'  is  that  Christian  ?  is  that 
right?" 

"  Stand  up  !"  said  she  fiercely.  "  Not  a  word  more.  JN'o 
one  can  judge  me  in  this  matter.  What  I  have  said,  I  have 
said  ;  and  I  forbid  thee  to  speak  further  upon  it.  Speak 

not  of  him,  if  thou  wilt  not  Thinkest  thou  that  here 

the  questif)n  is  of  apples  and  pears  ? — I  tell  thee  it  is  of  rea- 
son and  madness  !  Eouse  not  the  evil  spirit  in  me.  Away 
with  these  remembrances,  with  these  thoughts, — away!  away!" 

I  stood  up — my  heart  was  tossed  with  contending  emo- 
tions ;  but  Ma  chere  mere's  wild  look  and  her  gestures 
showed  me  that  now  was  not  the  time  to  give  vent  to  them. 
Nevertheless,  I  would  not  give  up  all  hope.  I  looked  im- 
ploringly, with  clasped  hands,  but  she  turned  away  from  me. 
"  Go,"  said  she  sternly  ;  "  our  discourse  is  at  an  eud.  I  would 
be  alone.    Gro,  I  mil  it !" 

I  went ! — my  soul  full  of  bitterest  anguish.  Ma  chere  mere 
bolted  the  door  behind  me.  As  I  entered  the  boudoir,  I  saw 
there  a  man  standing  with  his  forehead  against  the  wall.  It 
was  Bruno.  Terrified,  I  went  to  him,  laid  my  hard  gently 
on  his  arm,  and  said  in  a  low  voice,  "  For  God's  sake,  Bruno, 
v^hat  are  you  doing  here,  so  near  "    He  turned  slowly 


240 


THE  J7EIGHB0URS. 


his  face  towards  me.  It  was  deadly  pale ;  cold  perspiration 
stood  on  his  brow  ;  his  look  was  confused  ;  he  gazed  at  me 
with  a  gloomy  indifference.  But  suddenly  he  collected  him- 
self, and  laying  his  hand  on  his  forehead,  rushed  out  of  the 
room.  I  followed  him,  and  thanked  God  as  I  saw  Bear  meet 
him,  seize  his  arm,  and  compel  him  to  be  on  his  guard,  that 
the  servants  might  suspect  nothing.  With  apparent  calm- 
ness, they  left  the  house  together. 

I  went  in  the  mean  time  to  Jean  Jacques.  I  could  not  let 
the  husband  and  wife  know  all  that  had  occurred.  I  told 
them  simply  that  I  had  produced  no  result ;  that  I  had  not 
dared  to  give  Ma  chere  mere  cause  to  imagine  how  near  to 
her  her  son  was,  since  the  very  thought  of  him  seemed  nearly 
sufficient  to  unsettle  her  reason.  Jean  Jacques  stuck  his 
hand  in  his  coat-pockets,  and  went  up  and  down  the  room, 
saying,  "  That  is  devilish,  that  is  devilish.  How  can  any  one 
be  so  unreasonable  ?  And  then,  Bruno, — I  implored  him  to 
remain  quiet ;  but  as  soon  as  he  heard  his  mother's  voice,  which 
for  a  moment  was  audible  here,  he  became  like  a  maniac. 
He  tore  himself  away  from  Bear,  who  would  have  held  him, 
and  dashed  forth.  It  was  well  that  he  did  not  go  in  to  Ma 
chere  mere.    There  would  have  been  a  pretty  'larum  !" 

Jane  Marie  also  could  not  comprehend  how  it  was  that 
people  could  not  be  governed  by  their  reason,  but  added  that 
she  had  anticipated  how  the  affair  would  end ;  that  she  had 
never  looked  for  any  good  effect  from  it. 

Neither  of  them  spoke  according  to  my  feeling.  I  longed 
for  Bear;  I  expected  comfort  and  support  from  him.  A 
length  he  came;  he  was  heated,  excited,  and  looked  woe 
begone.  I  threw  myself  on  his  neck,  and  wept ; — I  coulc 
not  do  otherwise.  He  embraced  me,  and  said  merely,  "  We 
will  not  let  our  courage  sink,  nor  give  up  all  as  lost :  no  tree 
is  felled  by  a  single  stroke." 

"  Ah !  what  shall  we  do  ?"  asked  I,  with  a  deep  sigh. 

"  We  will  now  go  home,"  answered  he,  "  and  then  we  will 
talk  further  about  it.  The  cabriolet  is  below.  Adieu,  Jean 
Jacques  ;  adieu,  sister-in-law.    Come,  Fanny !" 

In  the  cabriolet  I  related  to  Bear  all  that  had  passed 
between  Ma  chere  mere  and  myself.     He  said  merely 

"  Hum  !  hum !  "    Then  we  sate  silent ;  but  I  knew 

that  he  thought  with  me,  and  more  wisely  than  I.    It  did 


BEUNO  TO  ANTOTflO. 


241 


me  good  to  sit  silently  hj  his  side,  as  we  drove  through  the 
whispering  wood.  The  weather  was  in  harmony  w4th  r^y 
mood  of  mind.  It  was  become  dark ;  and  the  boughs  of  the 
pines  swayed  in  the  wind,  with  a  sort  of  sad  disquiet. 

"In  the  mean  time,"  said  Bear  consolingly,  when  we  had 
reached  home — "  in  the  mean  time  we  have  won  one  point 
This  dangerous  state  of  apathy  is  broken,  and  will  probably, 
for  this  time,  not  return.  That  is  a  victory  which  may  prepare 
the  way  for  another.  We  won't  despair.  I  wiU  see  Bruno 
to-morrow." 

"  In  the  mean  time,"  to  take  up  Bear's  phrase,  I  am  dis- 
tressed in.  heart  and  soul,  and  know  not  what  further  to  say. 

FEAQMENT  OF  A  LETTER  FEOM  BETJISTO  TO  ANTONIO. 

September  3rd. 

What  is  it  to  live  ?  To  drag  through  unimportant  days 
without  interest  and  pleasure,  and  to  sink  together  by  de- 
grees, like  a  building  that  is  inwardly  decayed.  No,  rather 
to  desire  to  behold  a  future,  at  least  a  morrow;  that  is  life. 
A  morrow  !  Tor  me  that  will  probably  no  more  arise.  The 
stream  of  life  has  turned  itself  away  from  me.  Why  should 
I  linger  in  the  desert,  and  thirst?  Mother,  mother,  from 
thee  I  am  repulsed.  It  is  thou  who  hast  dried  up  my  heart, 
and  my  world.  But  this  night  I  will  free  myself;  I  will 
drink  revenge.  My  mother!  Is  it  love,  is  it  hate  to  her, 
by  which  I  am  impelled  ?  I  know  not.  But  this  night  I 
will  stand  before  her,  and  burst  the  ice-rind  of  her  heart ;  or 
my  brain  shall  burst,  and  she  shall  be  covered  with  my  blood. 
I  will  awaken  in  her  bosom, — remorse.  I  will  call  into  her 
eye  a  tear  which  shaU  never  dry  up  again.  She  will  not 
forgive  ....  So  be  it,  she  shall  weep.  Why  should  I  live  ? 
For  whom  ?  for  what  ?  I  have  drunken  the  wild  pleasure  ol 
life, — it  disgusts  me.  To  the  better  and  the  purer  the  way  is 
barred ;  barred  by  my  own  mother.  Bitter,  curse -inspiring 
feeling !  The  mother's  heart  is  closed  against  me ;  closed 
therefore  from  me  heaven  also  ....  the  bosom  of  Grod. 
Yes,  it  must  be  so,  for  all  the  bitterness  of  the  world  has 
gathered  itself  into  my  heart.  I  will  avenge  myself  on  my 
mother  !  And  yet,  in  this  dark  moment,  a  mild,  a  refreshing 
sensation,  slides  into  my  soul.    Serena !    Her  beloved  image 

Q 


242 


THE  NEIGHBOTTES 


awakes  it.  Slie  rejected  me,  but  I  cannot  be  angry  with  her. 
She  renounced  my  love  for  the  sake  of  her  duty,  she  left  me 
alone ;  yet  my  soul  feels  but  tenderness  towards  her.  That 
feeling  does  me  good.  I  will  never  cause  her  woe.  But  as 
I  saw  her  so  firm,  so  strong,  I  saw  her  still  farther  withdrawn 
from  me.  As  the  star  grows  pale  in  a  higher  light,  so  paled 
she  for  me  as  she  approached  nearer  to  the  angel.  She 
cannot  hold  me  back,  the  distance  between  us  is  too  wide. 
And  should,  indeed,  my  death  distress  her,  she  will  wrap  her- 
self in  her  white  garb  of  innocence,  in  her  saintly  attire  of 
virtue,  and  remain  fixed  and  still ;  God  is  with  her.  Pure 
angel,  peace  be  with  thee !  I  may  not  press  thee  to  my 
burning  bosom  ;  but  from  thy  heaven,  which  is  thy  heritage, 
and  from  which  I  am  exiled,  thou  wilt  perhaps  look  down 
upon  me,  and  refresh  my  heart,  since  no  one  possesses  this 
power  like  thee.  Farewell !  Our  paths  now  separate  for 
ever:  mine  descends  into  the  depths  of  darkness,  thine 
ascends  into  the  high  light.    Farewell ! 

Farewell,  too,  my  dreams,  ye  dear  dreams  of  a  more  beau- 
tiful life,  of  reconcilement  and  love.  Fare  ye  well,  ye  tender 
and  loving  feelings  in  my  soul,  which  I  have  loved  and 
cherished  as  the  better  part  of  myself.  And  ye  tones,  which 
I  have  awoke  on  so  many  nights  in  order  to  answer  the 
inquiries  of  my  soul,  to  still  its  torments,  sleep,  sleep !  I 
will  never  listen  to  you  again.  When  I  called  you  forth,  I 
had  still  hope ;  now  I  have  none. 

No,  Antonio,  I  have  no  hope !  Despair  lies  in  tlie  depth 
of  the  question  which  I  will  yet  once  more  put  to  my  fate. 
Farewell,  Antonio !  Thanks  for  thy  friendship ;  thanks  foi 
this,  that  with  all  my  faults,  thou  hast  loved  me.  Pardon 
that  which  I  have  done,  be  at  peace  with  me,  as  I  am  with 
thee. 

But  thou,  my  mother !  yet  no  peace  with  thee.  Yet  in 
this  night  I  will  press  a  kiss  upon  thy  lips,  either  of  life  oi 
of  death.  In  vain  dost  thou  withdraw  thyself — thou  shalt 
not  escape.    Higher  powers  are  with  me — ^to-night ! 


3PBANSISKA  WEENEE  TO  MAEIA  M 


243 


CIIAPTEE  XIII. 

FRAIfSISKA  WER]S"EB  TO  MARIA  M  . 

September  4-5th. 

0  Maeia!  my  dear  Maria!  what  events,  what  scenes, 
what  changes  !  How  can  one  night  have  changed  thus  every- 
thing— but  I  must  relate  you  all  from  the  beginning.  I  have 
looked  death  in  the  face,  death  wild  and  horrible.  Ah !  it  is 
still  indeed  near !  But  I  must  bring  order  into  my  soul  and 
my  conceptions. 

Eor  two  days  after  my  last  interview  with  Ma  chere  mere, 
we  heard  nothing  of  her.  On  the  third,  Bear  drove  over  to 
Carlsfors,  to  learn  how  matters  stood.  He  found  that  Ma 
chere  mere  had  been  in  a  high  state  of  excitement,  and  most 
restless  mood  of  mind.  During  the  night  she  had  been  heard 
going  to  and  fro  in  her  chamber  almost  incessantly  ;  during 
the  day  she  had  wept  bitterly.  She  was  now  somewhat  more 
composed  ;  she  received  Bear  kindly,  asked  how  his  wife  was  ; 
came  into  the  drawing-room  to  tea,  and  appeared  by  degrees 
to  resume  her  wonted  manner. 

The  relation  of  her  sufferings  moved  me.  I  almost  longed 
to  see  her  again,  and  to  hear  a  friendly  word  from  her ;  and 
I  felt  an  actual  delight  as  early  next  morning — it  was  the 
8rd  of  September — I  received  a  little  kind  of  note  from  her, 
in  which  she  said  that  in  the  forenoon  she  intended  to  drive 
to  the  town  to  purchase  various  small  articles,  and  made  me 
the  proposal  to  bear  her  company.  If  I  agreed  she  would 
call  upon  me,  and  in  the  evening  deliver  me  safe  at  home 
again. 

1  wanted  to  buy  myself  three  funnels,  a  sieve,  and  a  little 
cullender,  and  accepted  the  offer  with  all  my  heart,  after  I 
had  said  a  few  words  with  Bear,  and  had  promised  to  pro- 
vide him  a  good  dinner  at  home,  though  I  should  not  have 
the  pleasure  of  seeing  him  eat  it.  Bear  did  not  look  at  all 
despairing  about  it,  embraced  me,  and  proceeded  in  the 
uabriolet  to  the  town,  where  we  hoped  to  meet. 

It  was  not  without  some  uneasiness  and  perplexity  that  I 
now  thought  of  seeing  Ma  chere  mere  again.  How  could  it 
stand  between  us  after  the  last  violent  scene  ?    What  should 

q2 


THE  NEIGHBOUK. 


I  say  ?  How  should  I  look  ?  From  this  uncertainty  1  waa 
relieved  by  Ma  chere  mere's  arrival.  She  did  not  leave  the 
carriage,  but  as  I  got  in,  she  reached  me  her  hand  with  a 
serious  but  open  countenance,  drew  me  to  her,  pushed  back 
my  bonnet,  and  kissed  me  on  the  forehead  and  mouth  with 
great  tenderness.  This  did  me  good,  and  from  that  moment 
I  felt  all  restraint  was  gone.  Yet  I  was  in  a  sad  mood.  Ma 
chere  mere  was  still ;  the  day  gloomy,  the  air  heavy.  jN'o 
one  can  say  that  our  drive  was  cheerful.  At  the  spot  where 
the  road  to  Eamm  branches  off,  Ma  chere  mere  turned  her 
head  in  the  other  direction.  My  heart  was  stirred  within  me 
by  this  sign  of  an  irreconcilable  feeling ;  but  as  she  soon 
after  put  to  me  some  unimportant  question,  I  was  so  struck 
with  her  ghastly  paleness  that  I  could  not  be  angry  with  her, 
but  I  was  so  grieved  that  I  was  on  the  very  point  of  weeping. 
So  reached  we  the  town. 

"  In  the  widow  of  Provost  Ehen,"  said  Ma  chere  mere,  as 
soon  as  we  had  got  through  the  town  gate,  "  thou  wilt  make 
acquaintance  with  a  very  imp  of  housekeeping."  We  de- 
scended at  Madame  Rhen's,  whore  Ma  chere  mere  has  always 
when  she  is  in  the  town  a  kind  of  inn.  One  cannot  see  the 
widow  of  Provost  Rhen  without  immediately  feeling  that  she 
is  friendliness,  hospitality,  and  talkativeness  combined ;  and 
one  cannot  see  her  daughter  E-enetta  without  thinking  that 
the  apple  falls  not  far  from  the  tree.  One  cannot  see  her 
arrangements  for  Ma  chere  mere  without  perceiving  that  Ma 
chere  mere  is  in  her  eyes  a  great  puissance,  which  she  equally 
fears  and  loves.  Por  her  sake  I  also  was  treated  with  zealous 
cordiality,  and  the  good  Renetta  had  nearly  strangled  me  as 
she  took  off  my  cloak  with  so  much  vigour,  the  ribbons  having 
by  my  awkwardness  been  drawn  into  a  knot. 

The  Provostess  Ehen  had  been  a  kind  of  housekeeper  with 
Ma  chere  mere,  who  had  betrothed  and  married  her  to  the 
Provost,  who  suffered  himself  in  this  matter  to  be  led  by  her 
as  by  his  fate.  Whether  he  had  had  to  repent  it,  I  know 
not.  The  Provostess  was  now  a  well-to-do  widow,  who  placed 
her  joy  and  honour  in  being  able  to  entertain  "  the  gracious 
Generalska"  when  she  came  there,  by  whom  she  was  always 
bluntly  and  plainly  called  "Eh en." 

The  kindness  of  Rhen  and  Eenetta ;  the  neat,  clean  room, 
with  two  little  lovely  pictures,  representing  children  playiuj^ 


rBANSISKA  WERNER  TO  MARIA  M. 


245 


with  tame  animals,  impressed  me  with  a  very  agreeable  feeling. 
The  beautiful  Smaland  cheese  and  a  glass  of  Malaga,  which 
were  immediately  set  on  a  snow-white  cloth,  tasted  most  ex- 
cellent. After  OUT  refreshment,  Ma  chere  mere  and  I  set 
out  on  our  round  of  business.  It  had  cleared  up  ;  the  air 
was  charming  ;  and  within  me  all  had  become  more  and  more 
cheerful.  There  awoke  in  my  soul  I  know  not  what  glad 
anticipation;  and  as  the  sun  broke  through  the  clouds,  it 
seemed  to  me  as  if  there  could  be  no  irremediable  misfortune 
and  no  irreconcilable  hearts — I  felt  as  if  all  must  turn  out 
well.  Well,  my  dear  Maria,  I  am  like  a  stringed  instru- 
ment, perhaps  a  little  too  easily  moved.  But  like  me  as  I 
am.  I  like  Byron,  because  he  calls  the  heart  "a  pendulum 
betwixt  a  smile  and  tear." 

In  the  town  was  much  throng  and  stir.  It  was  market- 
day  ;  and  the  great  market-place  was  fuU  of  people,  wagons, 
and  carts.  It  delighted  me  thoroughly  to  behold  the  joyous 
swarm  ;  it  delighted  me  to  meet  Bear  in  the  town  ;  I  promised 
myself  a  moment's  time  to  call  on  Serena.  All  presented 
itself  to  me  as  lively  and  pleasant.  The  smell  of  the  fresh 
hay  diffused  itself  fragrantly  from  the  peasants'  wagons.  Here 
the  peasant  lifted  his  smoked  ham  to  the  nose  of  a  stooping 
connoisseur  ;  there  a  good  woman  vaunted  her  fresh  butter  ; 
here  the  carrot  lay  separated  from  the  red  beet,  which  had 
been  its  companion  in  the  green  hamper  ;  there  people  sold 
pears  for  a  penny  a-piece.  There  was  a  hum  of  blithe  voices, 
of  gossip  and  laughter  ;  and  amongst  men,  horses,  and  wagons, 
hurried  about  a  brisk  flock  of  sparrows,  twittering  here  and 
there  throughout  the  market,  gathered  the  scattered  manna, 
flew  up  with  a  whisk  when  a  heavy-footed  fellow  scattered 
this  light  troop,  and  then  as  unweariedly  dropped  themselves 
down  again.  Stout  old  women,  well  armed  with  wit  and 
tongue,  sate  in  rows  before  the  houses  and  in  the  market- 
place, with  their  meal-tubs,  their  great  loaves,  their  baskets 
of  pears  and  pastry,  and  rated  keenly  the  street  lads,  who  as 
they  went  by  sought  to  indemnify  themselves  for  their  want 
of  money  with  pert  sayings.  A  spirit  of  joke  came  over  me. 
Before  me  stood  a  ragged  little  boy  with  a  good  countenance, 
who  regarded  the  riches  of  the  market  with  a  philosophical 
whistling.  Behind  him,  upon  a  step,  stood  his  empty  basket, 
over  which  a  net  was  thrown.    I  filled  this  dexterously  A\itlj 


246 


THE  NEIGHBOURS, 


sugar-pears,  and  the  old  woman  of  whom  I  bought  them  lifted 
the  net  cautiously  up  herself,  and  nodded  to  me  that  she  un- 
derstood the  whim.  The  youngster  will  long  wonder  to  him- 
self how  these  pears  came  there.  Farther  on  stood  a  horse 
tied  up  to  a  windi)w- shutter,  and  stretched  his  lean  head  out 
towards  some  chaiF,  but  could  not  reach  it.  I  took  a  famous 
lock  of  hay  out  of  the  cart  and  gave  it  to  the  horse,  while  I 
looked  round  half  in  fear  at  the  proprietor.  Ma  chere  mere 
laughed,  and  gave  him  another  lock.    The  horse  eat. 

"  Grood  mother,  why  do  you  tempt  me  with  your  fine 
plums  ?  I  must  have  a  half  measure.  Here,  pour  them 
into  my  handkerchief.  But  the  money?  Oh,  I  have  no 
small  change." 

The  good  mother  must  go  into  a  shop  to  get  change ;  but 
who  shall  sell  the  pears  and  plums  meanwhile  ?  I  wiD.  The 
old  woman  goes ;  I  set  myself  on  her  stool,  sell  fruit,  and 
take  the  money.  I  have  no  customer  so  difficult  as  Ma  chere 
mere,  who  will  have  an  immensity  for  her  money,  and  mer- 
cilessly beats  me  down  and  runs  down  the  quality  of  my 
goods.  I  answer  as  well  and  as  roughly  as  I  can.  Finally, 
the  good  woman  comes  back  with  the  change  ;  and  is  so  satis- 
fied with  my  management  of  her  property,  that  I  must  take 
a  quarter  of  a  measure  of  plums  for  my  services. 

You  will  wonder  at  Ma  chere  mere's  patience  with  all  this. 
Eut  this  sort  of  thing  delights  her,  and  one  of  her  qualities 
which  makes  her  so  agreeable  to  me  is  the  hearty  and  plea- 
sant way  in  which  she  enters  into  any  innocent  joke. 

But  the  time  fied.  The  clock  of  the  church  struck  twelve. 
We  must  hasten  if  we  mean  to  get  our  business  done  before 
dinner.  I  glanced  towards  every  gateway  and  street-comer 
to  discover  Bear,  but  in  vain.  We  entered  some  shops, 
looked  at  various  things,  but  bought  nothing.  Ma  chere 
mere  scolded  the  masters  of  the  shops  for  their  bad  articles ; 
they  tried  to  raise  their  voices  in  their  defence,  but  she  raised 
her  voice  above  theirs,  and  put  them  down.  The  clock 
struck  one.  Ma  chere  mere  said,  "  We  must  not  let  Ehen's 
soup  get  cold."  We  set  out  back  again,  I  quite  out  of 
humour  not  to  have  found  Bear  ;  but  in  passmg  through  the 
next  street,  what  beheld  I  at  the  corner  ? — a  sight  to  me  a 
thousand  times  more  delightful  than  an  enchanted  castle  and 
bountiful  fairies — a  broad,  grey  back,  beyond  all  powder  of 


TEAIs^SISKA  ^RNEJR  TO  MARIA  M. 


247 


mistake  that  of  Bear.  I  sprang  softly  on  him,  held  him  fast, 
and  said,  You  shall  not  get  away,  you  Bear  1  I  take  you 
captive.    You  come  with  me." 

"  And  dine  with  us  ab  Ehen's,  and  do  not  go  away  again 
till  afternoon,"  added  Ma  chere  mere. 

Bear  was  not  difl&cult  to  be  persuaded,  took  the  arm  of  his 
little  wife,  and  walked  ^dth  her  to  Madame  Rhen's,  giving 
her  a  moral  sermon  on  her  presumption  in  acting  the  police- 
man. But  though  he  joked,  I  could  see  that  he  was  not 
glad. 

Ehen  and  Eenetta  ran  busily  about  to  bring  up  the  dinner 
as  we  entered.  As  they  spied  Bear,  they  sprung  in  raptures 
upon  him,  and  their  joy  mounted  to  the  very  roof  at  having 
the  company  of  the  good  and  cordial-hearted  man.  We  sate 
down  to  table.  The  dinner  was  excellent ;  my  appetite  was 
equally  so  ;  the  hostesses  were  pressing  and  communicative  ; 
I  had  passed  a  merry  morning,  and  would  fain  still  be  cheerful, 
but  there  sate  Bear  wita  so  solemn  a  face  that  it  troubled 
me.  I  saw  that  he  had  Bruno  in  bis  head  and  heart.  He 
now  also  entered  mine,  and  all  my  lightness  of  spirit  vanished; 
yes,  I  reproved  myself  that  I  could  have  been  so  gay.  Bear 
looked  at  Ma  chere  mere  frequently  with  a  grave  and  piercing 
notice ;  and  I  observed  that  she  sought  to  avoid  his  gaze. 
This  power  of  his  over  her  gave  me  pleasure.  But  at  once 
she  stared  at  him  with  her  great  dark  eyes  so  keenly  that  he 
was  obliged  to  sink  his  little  grey  ones,  and  I  could  not  help 
internally  smiling  at  this  skirmish  of  glances. 

Immediately  after  coffee.  Bear  left  us,  in  order  yet  to  visit 
some  patients,  and  would  thence  drive  home.  I  accom- 
panied him  into  the  hall,  since  one  could  not  enjoy  any  quiet 
in  the  presence  of  Rhen  and  Eenetta.  "  Bear,  thou  art  rest- 
less and  sad,"  said  I  anxiously,  and  took  his  hand.  "  I  have 
seen  Bruno  to-day,"  he  replied,  "  and  am  very  much  afraid 
that  the  whole  business  will  have  an  unfortunate  termination." 
"  Good  Grod  !"  I  exclaimed.  "  Yes,  may  He  help  us,"  said 
Bear ;  "  for  here  none  else  can.  Bruno  seems  to  contem- 
plate a  desperate  experiment.  What  he  has  got  in  his  head, 
I  could  not  drag  from  him.  And  I  would  not  further  restrain 
him  from  battling  out  his  own  concern.  That  which  cannot 
be  bent,  must  sometimes  be  broken.    But  go  in  now,  Panny 


248 


THE  NEIGHBOURS. 


go  in.  More  iu  the  evening.  In  the  evening  I  shall  see 
thee  again." 

Bear's  words  had  troubled  my  whole  soul,  and  the  feelings 
of  my  mind  were  probably  visible  in  my  countenance,  for 
Ma  chere  mere  asked  me  eagerly  "if  I  were  unwell  ?"  and 
my  hostesses  exclaimed,  that  I  was  so  pale,  so  very  pale.  I 
complained  of  dizziness,  and,  in  fact,  everything  went  round 
with  me. 

Provostess  Ehen  knocked  at  the  window,  then  opened  it, 
and  cried,  "Madame!  Madame!"  Two  gentlemen  looked 
back,  and  a  youth  came  to  the  window.    "Madame!"  said 

she  still  louder, — "  Madame  Al  ah !  yes,  it  was  Madame 

Follin  hear  you,  good  Madame;  here  is  a  two-dollar  banco, 

lake  it,  be  so  good,  and  run  to  Bergstrom's,  and  ask  him  for 
a  little  of  his  best  eau  de  Cologne,  for  Madame  E;hen.  There 
will  be  one  dollar  four-and-twenty  out  of  it.  Thank  you 
kindly,  good  Madame." 

My  hostess  overwhelmed  me  now  with  kindness,  liqueur, 
and  perfumed  water ;  begged  me  to  sit  by  the  window,  and 
to  divert  my  mind  by  looking  into  the  street,  and  at  the  people 
(there  was  not  a  single  creature  in  the  street  excepting  a 
dog).  I  thanked  her  for  her  goodness,  but  said  that  the  free 
air  would  soonest  relieve  me.  Ma  chere  mere  arose  directly, 
and  we  went  out. 

We  spent  more  than  two  hours  with  going  about,  and  in 
the  shops.  Ma  chere  mere  made  me  a  present,  far  too 
splendid  for  me,  but  the  heartfelt  expression  in  her  counte- 
nance and  manner  made  it  dear  to  me.  I  purchased  some 
trifles  for  Bear,  which  he  needed,  but  which  he  always  forgot 
to  procure  for  himself.  We  had  promised  to  take  tea  with 
the  Provostess  ;  Ma  chere  mere  would  not  allow  me  to  give 
it  up  ;  and  I  saw  with  regret  that  we  should  not  have  time  to 
see  Serena^  On  our  return  to  Madame  ilhen's,  we  crossed 
the  great  market-place,  which  had  been  so  lively  in  the  fore- 
noon. It  was  now  deserted,  and  merely  strewn  with  the 
litter  of  past  business,  and  with  the  children  of  the  air.  Ma 
chere  mere  was  quite  indignant  that  the  besoms  were  not 
at  work,  and  declared  that  she  would  speak  to  the  Mayor 
about  it." 

A  single  hay-wagon  stood  yet  in  the  corner  of  the  market- 
place, about  which  a  multitude  of  i)eople  was  assembled 


FEANSISKA  WEEIfEE  TO  MARIA  M. 


249 


Ma  chere  mere  stood  still,  and  asked  some  one  who  came  from 
the  wagon,  "  What  there  was  there  ?"  "A  great  wolf, 
which  had  been  shot,"  was  the  answer.  "  We  must  see 
that,"  said  Ma  chere  mere,  advanced,  and  made  a  way 
through  the  people,  who,  as  soon  as  they  recognised  her, 
made  room  for  her.  The  countrymen  lifted  their  hats.  I 
followed  her,  like  a  little  boat  in  the  wake  of  a  frigate. 
When  we  reached  the  wagon,  we  saw  there  an  unusually 
large  and  fine  wolf.  There  was  a  strong  pressure  around  us, 
but  Ma  chere  mere  protected  me  by  putting  her  powerful  arm 
about  me,  and  turning  herself  at  the  same  time  to  the  people, 
said,  "  Don't  crowd  so  !"  which  was  immediately  repeated  by 
numerous  voices,  and  we  obtained  ample  room.  The  peasant 
to  whom  the  wagon  belonged,  related,  in  reply  to  Ma  chere 
mere,  how  he  had  gone  out  in  the  early  morning  with  his 
gun,  and  saw  two  young  wolves  on  the  border  of  the  wood, 
which  had  laid  themselves  on  some  litter  under  a  fir-tree. 
He  drew  near,  and  took  aim  at  them.  At  the  same  moment 
their  mother  sprang  out  of  the  wood  with  a  fierce  howl,  and 
placed  herself  before  them.  He  fired,  she  fell,  and  the  young 
ones  ran  ofi"  into  the  wood.  The  man  hastened  to  the  wolf ; 
she  struggled  with  death  ;  and  a  second  shot  put  an  end  to  her, 
and  he  joyfully  dragged  his  booty  home.  I  saw  that  the  tongue 
of  the  creature  hung  far  out  on  one  side,  and  as  I  alluded 
to  that,  the  coimtryman  showed  me  that  the  tongue  was 
nearly  bitten  off.  She  had  probably  done  it  in  the  agony  of 
death,  he  added.  For  the  first  time  I  felt  pity  for  a  wolf  j 
and  I  could  not  refrain  from  stroking  the  head  of  the  fine 
animal,  and  saying  softly — "  Grood  mother  !" — "  Let  us  go, 
Fransiska,"  said  Ma  chere  mere  abruptly,  and  we  made  our 
way  back  as  we  had  made  it  thither.  Ma  chere  mere  looked 
gloomy,  and  as  we  went  over  the  market-place  I  could  not 
omit  saying,  for  my  heart  was  moved — "  What  a  fine  feeling 
must  live  in  animals,  which  man  considers  to  stand  so  far  be- 
neath him  !    A  wolf  dies  for  her  young !" 

"  The  young  of  the  wolf,"  said  Ma  chere  mere  in  a  bitter 
tone,  "  had  occasioned  their  mother  no  grief:  she  died  in  her 
pride  in  them.  Better  to  die  with  a  bitten  tongue,  than  to 
live  with  a  torn  heart."  We  were  both  silent.  Presently 
we  came  to  a  little  green  plain,  on  which  fine  poplars  reared 
their  quivering  pyramids.    The  sun  in  its  setting  burnislied 


250 


THE  NEIGHBOUES. 


them  with  deep  gold,  and  a  number  of  little  birds  filled  them 
with  the  music  of  their  songs.  Seats  were  here  placed  that 
the  passers-by  might  enjoy  the  shade.  On  one  of  those 
benches  sat  two  persons,  who  attracted  our  attention :  one  of 
them  was  an  aged  woman,  evidently  poor,  but  of  a  good- 
natured  countenance,  and  dressed  with  extraordinary  neat- 
ness. Near  her  sate  a  man,  equally  neatly  clad,  with  a  long 
pale  face,  hanging  lips,  and  the  aspect  of  one  of  weak 
intellect.  Ma  chere  mere,  who  possesses  a  tolerable  portion  of 
curiosity,  approached  them.  As  we  drew  near  we  saw  that 
the  man  was  blind.  "  Is  that  your  brother,  good  woman  ?" 
asked  Ma  chere  mere.  "My  son,"  answered  the  woman 
with  a  sigh.  "  Son !  how  old  is  he  ?"  "  Twenty-five  years." 
He  looked  fifty.  "  He  is  blind,  and,  as  I  fancy,  also  deaf," 
continued  Ma  chere  mere.  "  Blind,  and  deaf,  and  dumb,"  an- 
swered the  mother.  "  How  long  has  he  been  in  this  con- 
dition ?"  "  Since  his  birth."  "  Has  he  any  sort  of  ideas  ?" 
"  That  is  difficult  to  perceive ;  one  must  guide,  feed,  tend, 
and  watch  him  like  a  child ;  but  sometimes  he  weeps,  and 
sometimes  he  laughs."  "  What  makes  him  laugh  ?"  "  When 
he  comes  out  into  the  air  he  is  cheerful  and  laughs,  and  when 
I  caress  him  long.  Thank  God  he  knows  me !"  Hereupon 
she  began  kindly  to  stroke  the  cheeks  of  her  son,  and  to  pat 
him  on  the  shoulder.  He  smiled  on  that  with  increasing 
liveliness  and  gladness,  and  his  countenance  assumed  almost 
an  expression  of  reason.  "  Is  he  sometimes  ill-humoured  ?" 
"  Tes,  often  ;  and  then  he  is  quite  raging.  But  still  he  has 
a  good  heart.  He  sleeps  very  little  by  night,  and  then  he  is 
accustomed  to  grope  his  way  round  to  the  beds  of  his  sister's 
children,  and  to  feel  whether  they  are  covered.  If  they  have 
thrown  off  their  bed-clothes,  he  spreads  them  carefuUy  over 
them.  He  is  especially  careful  of  the  sister's  little  daughter, 
and  when  he  hears  her  cry,  he  is  beside  himself." 

"  Tou  must  therefore  be  obliged  to  keep  him  in  your  eye 
more  than  all  your  other  children?" 

"  Tes,  of  necessity.  They  have  understanding,  but  he  has 
only  me.    I  can  very  rarely  leave  him." 

At  this  moment  the  deaf  and  dumb  made  some  horrible 
sounds;  they  were  a  kind  of  howl,  but  the  howl  of  a  wild 
beast  is  nothing  to  such  as  these.  Tears  started  from  the 
blind  eyes,  and  copiously  wet  his  face,  which^  besides  this, 


FEAySISKA  WER^fER  TO  MAEIA  M. 


251 


showed  no  expression  of  pain.  The  poor  wreteli  wiped  tliem 
away  with  his  hands. 

"And  this  has  continued  for  twenty-five  years,  and  may 
continue  yet  longer  ?"  asked  Ma  chere  mere,  with  a  tone  of 
voice  which  made  evident  how  deeply  it  liad  seized  on  her 
mind.    "Are  you  not  tired,  good  woman?" 

!N'o ;  with  the  help  of  G-od  shall  I  never  be  tired  with  my 
child,  but  patiently  await  the  time  when  it  shall  please  the 
Lord  to  relieve  us.    May  I  only  not  die  before  him." 

"  What  is  your  name,  good  woman  ?" 

"  Margaret  Beck,  widow  of  Beck  the  baker." 

"  Grood  morning,  Madame  Beck.  God  bless  you !  We 
shall  meet  again." 

Ma  chere  mere  went  on,  while  she  said  half  aloud  to  her- 
self, "  Twenty-five  years !" 

I  said  nothing,  but  hoped  within  myself  that  this  circum- 
stance might  not  be  without  its  effect  upon  her  own  heart.  We 
walked  on  for  some  time  silently  and  slowly,  when  Ma  chere 
mere  looked  hastily  up,  appeared  to  arouse  herself  out  of 
her  reverie,  and  half  reproachfully,  half  briskly  said,  "  Thou 
movest  like  a  tortoise,  Fransiska,  and  thus  we  go  dreaming 
away  our  time.  We  must  now  hasten  to  Rhen's,  and  drink 
our  tea  quickly,  that  we  may  not  have  to  reach  home  in  the 
dark." 

But  to  get  away  quickly  from  Madame  Bheu  and  her  tea 
was  impossible.  There  was  no  end  of  handing  and  pressing 
on  you  of  biscuits,  cracknels,  tea-cakes,  and  gingerbread ;  and 
the  good  lady  now  began  even  to  talk  of  supper,  and  said  she 
had  purposely  ordered  a  good  fat  turkey,  and  hoped  that 
Madame  Mansfelt  would  consent  to  stay,  and  not  give  her 
the  disappointment  of  seeing  her  little  preparation  was  fruit- 
less. I  expected  to  see  it  at  once  declined  by  Ma  chere  mere, 
but,  to  my  great  astonishment,  she  answered  neither  yes  nor 
no  ;  and  as  Madame  Khen  began  to  speak  in  her  zeal  of  a  clear 
evening  and  moonlight,  and  I  verily  believe  of  sunshine  and 
the  Northern  lights,  Ma  chere  mere  said  at  length  with  great 
coobiess,  "Well,  well,  we  shall  see."  Madame  Ehen  took 
this  as  an  acquiescence,  gave  E/onetta  a  hint,  and  followed  her 
herself  into  the  kitchen.  T  seized  this  opportunity  to  tell  Ma 
chero  mere  of  my  fear  of  our  driving  home  in  the  dark  ;  but 
when  I  turned  towards  her,  I  saw  her  sitting  with  her 


252 


THE  NEIGHBOUES. 


elbows  on  the  table,  and  her  face  covered  with  her  hands,  in 
one  of  those  fits  of  melancholy  of  which  I  had  so  often  heard, 
but  till  now  had  never  been  an  eye-witness  of.  I  neither 
would  nor  dared  to  disturb  her,  and  we  both  sate  profoundly 
silent  till  Madame  Ehen  entered  with  lights,  accompanied  by 
Eenetta,  who  brought  in  the  cakes  and  preserved  cherries. 
Ma  chere  mere  on  this  changed  her  position,  but  continued 
gloomy  and  silent.  I  myself  was  by  no  means  talkative,  but 
the  lively  hostess  did  not  concern  herself  on  that  account. 
She  and  her  daughter  talked  away  incessantly,  told  stories, 
interrupted  each  other,  and  mutually  drowned  each  other's 
voices  in  their  eagerness.  All  the  gossip,  all  the  little  in- 
trigues of  the  city  were  touched  on,  and  drawn  out  into  long 
histories.  I  could  not  help  beiag  amused  by  some  of  these, 
and  I  was  more  than  once  obliged  to  laugh,  as  well  at  the  zeal 
of  the  relaters,  as  at  the  relations  themselves,  which,  on  this, 
went  on  more  vigorously  than  ever.  I  know  not  whether  Ma 
chere  mere  heard  anything  of  all  this  or  not;  her  thoughts 
seemed  to  me  to  be  internally  directed,  and  I  wondered  to  see 
her  address  herself  so  effectually  to  the  turkey,  and  finally, 
with  some  hearty  phrases,  commend  flhen's  supper. 

I  was  thoroughly  wearied  of  all  the  eating  and  the  talk.  I 
longed  to  be  at  home,  and  with  Bear ;  and  said,  "  God  be 
thanked !"  as  we  were  once  more  seated  in  the  carriage.  In 
the  mean  time  it  was  become  very  dark  ;  and  instead  of  the 
lights  and  shines  which  Madame  Ithen  had  promised  us,  the 
heaven  had  put  on  a  grey  mantle  of  cloud,  which  did  not 
permit  even  the  faintest  glimpse  of  a  star  to  pass  through. 
But  on  the  western  horizon  it  lightened  strong  and  frequently, 
although  without  thunder.  It  was  that  which  is  called  sheet 
lightning.  Ma  chere  mere  took  the  reins  from  the  boy,  who 
then  took  his  seat  behind,  where  we  soon  heard  him  snore. 

The  evening  was  warm  and  still :  and  this  drive,  by  the 
radiance  of  the  lightning,  would  not  have  been  disagreeable  to 
me,  but  I  was  in  an  anxious  mood,  and  besides  this,  somewhat 
fearful ;  for  the  darkness  was  sometimes  so  deep  that  we  could 
not  distinguish  the  way,  and  Ma  chere  mere  had  not  her  accus- 
tomed vigilance.  She  appeared  to  be  in  an  excited  state  oi 
mind,  and  often  lifted  her  handkerchief  to  her  face.  Thia 
her  uneasiness  did  me  good,  but  at  the  same  time  filled  me 
w*th  disquiet  as  it  regarded  our  progress.    We  went,  how- 


FBANSISKA  WERJ^ER  TO  MARIA  M. 


253 


ever,  securely  on,  if  not  at  the  quickest  pace ;  and  notwith- 
standing mj  fear,  notwithstanding  all  uneasy  and  anxious 
thoughts,  by  the  slow  driving  and  the  easy  rocking  of  the 
carriage,  I  became  at  last  very  sleepy.  I  nodded,  and  dreamed 
I  know  not  how  long,  but  was  suddenly  awaked  by  a  vio^ 
lent  shock  from  the  carriage  striking  against  some  stump 
or  stone.  I  looked  round ; — we  were  in  a  dark  and  thick 
wood.  My  spirits  sunk.  It  seemed  to  me  that  we  had 
driven  already  long  enough  to  have  reached  home. 

"  It  is  to  be  hoped  that  we  are  really  on  the  right  way," 
said  I,  doubtingly.  "  It  appears  to  me  that  we  must  have 
driven  quite  long  enough.    I  hope  we  have  not  gone  wrong." 

At  these  words  Ma  chere  mere  seemed  to  wake  out  of  a 
dream  ;  and  said  sharply,  and  somewhat  offended,  "  Make 
yourself  easy,  dear  child,  when  I  drive.  Ought  not  I  and 
my  horses  to  know  the  way  that  we  have  traversed  so  often  ? 
We  have  gone  it  together  these  fifteen  years,  and  have  never 
missed  our  way  yet." 

She  let  the  horses  feel  the  whip,  and  they  went  quicker. 
I  was  still  anxious,  and  fancied  by  the  light  of  the  somewhat 
clearer  sky  that  all  around  us  looked  strange  and  wild.  "  I 
cannot  conceive  where  we  can  be,"  said  I  at  length,  unable 
any  longer  to  conceal  my  uneasiness.  "  I  cannot  recognise 
anything  around  us.  A  wood  so  lofty  and  thick  as  this  there 
certainly  is  not  on  the  way  to  Carlsfors." 

"  Don't  be  a  croaker,  Fransiska,"  said  Ma  chere  mere, 
quite  out  of  temper,  "  and  don't  see  ghosts  where  there  are 
none.  Ey  night  the  wood  appears  twice  as  high  and  as  thick 
as  by  day.  I  cannot  exactly  see  where  we  are,  but  I  observe 
that  my  animals  scent  home  and  their  stable.  They  never 
run  thus  but  when  we  are  near  Carlsfors ;  and  hark !  how 
they  snort.  See,  are  we  not  in  the  great  avenue  ?  Yes, 
certainly,  we  are  just  there.  I  fancy  I  see  the  house  itself 
glimmer  out  yonder." 

We  were  now  certainly  in  an  avenue.  Ma  chere  mere  put 
on  the  horses,  and  they  flew  every  moment  more  rapidly  for- 
ward. Now  came  one  great  and  tremendous  blaze  of  light- 
ning, which  lasted  some  seconds ;  and  by  its  light  reared 
itself,  like  a  gigantic  spectre,  out  of  the  blackness  of  the  night 

— a  huge  and  gloomy  house,  not  Carlsfors,  but  Eamm  ! 

Ramm,  with  its  dark  fa9ade,  and  its  great  wings,  lay  before 


254 


THE  NEIGHBOURS. 


US  in  the  glare  of  the  lightning.  It  stretched,  as  it  seemed, 
its  threatening  arms  towards  us  ;  and  every  :nstant  we  were 
drawn  nearer  and  nearer  towards  it. 

I  looked  with  terror  at  Ma  chere  mere.  She  sate  as  if 
changed  to  stone.  Her  gaze  was  fixed  and  staring  ;  the  reins 
dropped  from  her  hands.  All  was  night  again,  but  only  for 
a  few  seconds.  Again  came  a  flash,  so  great  and  vivid  that 
trees,  bushes,  and  buildings,  appeared  all  in  flame.  In  this 
moment  stood  a  tall,  dark  figure  suddenly  before  us.  The 
horses,  terrified,  and  no  longer  restrained  by  a  guiding  hand, 
flew  right  and  left,  and  over  lawn  and  shrubbery,  dashed 
downwards  towards  the  lake,  which  shone  out  by  the  light- 
ning gleam  clear  amongst  the  trees. 

"With  convulsive  vehemence  Ma  chere  mere  endeavoured 
to  recover  the  reins,  which  had  fallen.  I  screamed  "  Help  ! 
help  !"  with  all  the  force  of  my  desperation.  Then  sprung 
some  one  before  the  horses  and  seized  the  reins.  I  saw  the 
horses  rear ;  saw  some  one  struggling  with  them  ; — by  the 
glare  of  the  now  incessant  lightning  I  recognised  Bruno.  I 
saw  him  thrown  down  by  the  horses ;  it  seemed  to  me  that 
they  went  over  his  body ;  more  I  saw  not,  for  I  lost  my  con- 
sciousness. 

When  I  came  to  myself  again,  I  found  myself  in  Ma  chere 
mere's  arms.  I  saw  her  pale  countenance  over  me ;  its  ex- 
pression of  anguish  and  tenderness  I  never,  never  shall  forget. 
"  God  be  praised !  she  recovers!"  said  Ma  chere  mere,  and 
impressed  a  motherly  kiss  on  my  forehead.  A  lofty  rotunda 
arched  itself  above  us,  lighted  by  a  lamp  from  above.  A  tall 
and  very  dark  woman,  whom  I  had  never  before  seen,  stood 
near  me,  and  handed  me  a  strong  cordial.  My  senses  were 
confused,  and  I  could  not  recal  into  my  memory  what  had 
iust  now  occurred ;  but  in  this  darkness  of  thought  and  of 
vision  I  sought  for  Bruno.    In  the  gloomiest  corner  of  the 

chamber  stood  was  it  a  bloody  spectre  which  my  terrified 

imagination  had  evoked,  or  was  it  an  actual  human  shape  ? 
My  eyes  fixed  themselves  inquiringly  upon  it ;  it  came  for- 
ward,— it  was  Bruno  !  But,  gracious  heavens  !  what  a  spec- 
tacle! Blood  streamed  from  his  brow  and  down  upon  his 
naked  breast,  his  clothes  were  torn  to  rags,  his  cheeks  were 
deadly  pale ;  wild  disquiet  burned  in  his  eyes  ;  in  the  strong 
contracted  eyebrows  lightnings  seemed  to  conceal  themselveSj, 


FEANSISKA  WERNEE  TO  MAEIA  M. 


255 


and  desperate  determinatiou  pressed  the  lips  together.  He 
approached  ua.  At  a  hint  from  him,  that  strange  woman 
withdrew,  and  we  three  were  left  alone.  I  tore  myself  loose 
from  Ma  chere  mere's  arms,  and  sate  upon  the  sofa.  My 
whole  consciousness  was  come  back  ;  my  whole  soul  was  vehe- 
mently on  the  stretch,  and  with  the  most  indescribable 
anxiety  I  observed  both  mother  and  son,  who  now  stood  face 
to  face.  Their  looks  seemed  to  pierce  through  each  other. 
Ma  chere  mere  seemed  to  be  smitten  with  the  wildest  amaze- 
ment ;  and  stepped  a  little  backwards.  Bruno  stepped  a 
step  forward,  and  said  slowly,  and  as  with  a  benumbed  tongue, 
"  You  are  rescued.  Grod  be  praised  !  And  for  me  now  only 
remains  to  die  or  to  win  forgiveness  ! — My  mother !  my 
mother!"  exclaimed  he  at  once,  as  if  an  angel  had  loosened 
tongue  and  feeling,  while  with  a  heart-rending  expression  he 
sank  down  and  embraced  her  knees.  "  My  mother,  wilt  thou 
not  pardon  ?  Wilt  thou  not  bless  thy  son  ?  Take  away  ! 
take  away  the  curse  from  my  brow.  Mother  !  I  have  suffered 
so  much.  I  have  wandered  about  without  peace  :  I  am  des- 
titute of  peace  yet:  peace  can  never  be  mine  while  I  am 
thrust  from  thy  bosom. — I  have  suffered  ;  I  have  suffered 
much ;  I  have  repented  ; — I  can,  and  will  atone.  But  then 
you  must  pardon,  you  must  bless  me,  mother.  Mother  take 
away  the  curse  !  Thou  knowest  not  how  it  burns  !  Lay  a 
blessing  on  my  head.  Mother,  will  you  not  stanch  the  blood 
which  flows  on  your  account  ?  See  mother  ! — "  and  Bruno 
raised  his  clotted  locks,  through  which  deep  and  streaming 
wounds  were  visible.    "  See,  mother,  if  thou  wilt  not  lay  thy 

hand  here  in  blessing,  I  swear,  by  that  this  blood-stream 

shall  never  cease  till  my  life  has  welled  out  with  it,  and  has 
sunk  me  to  the  grave  on  which  alone  thou  ^  ilt  lay  thy  for- 
giveness. There,  there  first  shall  I  find  peace.  Oh,  mother  ! 
was  an  error  in  young  and  wild  years  then  so  unpardonable  ? 
Cannot  a  later  life  of  virtue  and  of  love  make  atonement  ? 
Mother !  cast  me  not  off.  Let  the  voice  of  thy  son  penetrate 
to  thy  heart.    Bestow  on  me  forgiveness,  full  forgiveness !" 

Overcome  by  my  feelings,  I  threw  myself  on  my  knees  by 
Bruno,  and  cried,  "  Pardon  !  pardon !" 

What  during  this  time  passed  in  Ma  chere  mere's  heart 
I  know  not.  It  seemed  to  be  a  contest  of  life  and  death. 
She  moved  not ; — with  a  fixed  and  immovable  gaze  she  loc  ked 


256 


THE  NEIGHBOURS. 


down  at  the  kneeling  one,  and  convulsive  twitches  passed  over 
her  pale  lips.  But  as  his  voice  ceased,  slie  lifted  her  hand 
and  pressed  it  strongly  against  her  heart.    "  My  son  !  Oh  ! 

 Oh !"  said  she  with  a  hollow  voice.    She  sighed  deeply  ; 

her  countenance  became  yellow,  her  eyes  closed,  she  reeled, 
and  would  have  fallen  to  the  ground,  if  Bruno  had  not  sprung 
up  and  caught  her  in  his  arms. 

He  stood  a  moment  still,  his  mother  pressed  to  his  bosom, 
and  gazed  on  her  countenance,  over  which  Death  had  shed 
his  awful  peace.  "  Is  it  thus,"  said  he,  in  a  quiet  distrac- 
tion, is  it  thus  then  that  we  are  reconciled,  mother  ?  Thus 
thou  restest  on  the  bosom  of  thy  son,  and  he  on  thine  ?  Thou 
ort  pale,  my  mother,  but  peaceful,  and  lookest  kind — kind  as 
Grod's  propitiation.    It  was  not  thus  that  I  saw  thee  the  last 

time ;  but  the  hour  of  wrath  is  over ;  is  it  not  so,  my 

mother  ?  The  grave  has  opened  itself,  and  we  go  down  there 
reconciled,  and  heart  to  heart ;  one  in  my  last  hour,  as  we 
were  one  at  my  first  sigh !"  And  he  kissed  her  pale  lips  and 
cheeks  with  passionate  tenderness. 

"  Bruno !  Bruno  !"  I  exclaimed  imploringly,  and  weeping 
seized  his  arm.  "  Bruno,  you  kill  your  mother  and  yourself, 
when  you  go  on  in  this  manner.  Come,  we  will  lay  her  on  a 
bed.  We  must  endeavour  to  recal  her  to  consciousness; 
we  must  bind  your  wounds." 

Bruno  made  no  answer,  but  took  his  mother  in  his  arms 
and  carried  her  into  another  room,  where  he  laid  her  softly 
down  upon  a  bed.  "  Hagar  !"  he  called ;  and  that  tall  dark 
womaii  immediately  stepped  in.  She  threw  herself  at  his 
feet ;  weeping  kissed  his  hand ;  and  addressed  him  pas- 
sionately and  imploringly  in  a  language  which  I  did  not 
understand.  He  thrust  her  sternly  from  him ;  and  I  under- 
stood that  he  commanded  her  to  exert  herself  for  Ma  chere 
mere.  She  obeyed  with  sobs  and  tears.  I  saw  that  Bruno 
staggered,  and  supported  himself  against  the  wall.  I  went 
to  him. 

"  Bruno,"  said  I,  "for  your  mother's  sake,  think  of  your- 
self. You  must  lie  down  ;  you  must  allow  your  wounds  to 
be  bound  up." 

He  seized  a  light  sofa  and  drew  it  forward,  so  that  it  stood 
just  opposite  to  th^  bed  on  which  his  mother  lay,  and  threw 
himself  upon  it.    His  head  lay  opposite  to  hers,  and  he  fixed 


rEAlN-SISKi.  WEKNEE  TO  MARIA  M. 


25? 


Ilia  eyes  upon  lier.  Hagar  and  I  came  between  them.  In 
broken  Swedish,  and  great  agitation  of  mind,  Hagar  said  to 
me,  "  Bind,  bind  up  his  wounds,  or  he  dies  !" 

I  folded  a  cloth,  dipped  it  in  cold  water,  and  said  to  Bruno, 
"  For  your  mother's  sake,  let  me  bind  your  wounds  as  well 
as  I  can,  or  you  will  bleed  to  death."  I  was  proceeding,  but 
he  held  my  hand  back,  and  said  with  a  tone  whose  severity 
strongly  reminded  me  of  his  mother — "  It  cannot  be  done. 
She  has  not  yet  forgiven  me — ^not  yet  blessed  me.  My  blood 
shall  not  till  then  be  stanched  ;  I  have  sworn  it." 

To  persuade  Bruno  was  not  to  be  expected ;  1  therefore 
directed  all  my  attention  to  Ma  chere  mere.  But  for  a  long 
time  all  my  endeavours  to  restore  her  to  consciousness  were 
in  vain.  It  was  a  moment  of  unspeakable  agony.  I  feared 
that  actually  mother  and  son  would  follow  one  another  to 
the  grave. 

"  If  we  could  but  get  her  bled,"  said  I. 

"  That  can  be  done,"  replied  Hagar,  and  ran  out. 

Nearly  in  the  same  instant  Ma  chere  mere  opened  her 
eyes,  and  fixed  them  sharply  on  me.  "AVhere  is  he?"  de- 
manded she  eagerly  ;  "  I  have  not  dreamed !" 

"  He  is  here,"  I  answered ;  "he  is  near ;  he  is  bleeding 
to  death  while  he  awaits  the  blessing  of  his  mother." 

"  Where  is  he  ?"  demanded  she  again. 

I  stood  near  her  pillow — I  stood  between  mother  and  son  ; 
and  instead  of  answering  her  question,  I  drew  myself  back, 
and  their  eyes  met  each  other.  A  beam  of  heavenly  light, 
of  ineffable  love,  kindled  in  them ;  and  it  melted  their  souls 
into  one.  She  raised  herself  with  energy,  and  stretched  out 
her  hand  with  the  warmest  expression  of  maternal  feeling 
while  she  said — "  My  son,  come  hither  :  I  will  bless  thee  !" 

He  stood  up.  The  tall,  gigantic  man  staggered  like  a 
child,  and  sank  on  his  knees  by  the  bed  of  his  mother.  She 
laid  her  hands  on  his  bloody  head,  and  said  with  a  strong 
voice  and  a  deep  solemnity,  "  I  take  away  the  curse  which 
I  once  laid  on  the  head  of  my  son.  I  bestow  on  him  my 
full  forgiveness.  May  the  man  atone  for  the  error  of  the 
youth !  Let  the  past  be  as  if  it  never  had  been.  I  acknow- 
ledge that  I  owe  my  life  to  my  son ;  and  I  pray  Grod  Almighty 
to  bless  thee,  my  son,  Bruno  Mansfelt,  as  I  bless  thee  now. 


258 


THE  NEiaHBOUES. 


Amen !"  "With  that  she  opened  her  arms ;  he  clasped  his 
round  her ;  bosom  was  pressed  to  bosom,  lip  to  lip  ;  they 
held  one  another  in  a  long  and  close  embrace.  Every  breatf 
seemed  to  be  full  of  reconciliation,  of  love,  and  happiness. 
Fifteen  years  of  bitter  pangs  were  in  this  moment  recom- 
pensed and  forgotten.  I  stood  near  them,  and  wept  for  joy 
and  thankfulness. 

Hagar's  return  interrupted  this  moment  of  pure  trans- 
port. Bruno  again  kissed  with  deep  love  the  hand  of  his 
mother,  then  arose  and  cried  out  joyfully,  "  Now  bind  my 
wounds!    Stop  the  blood!    I  have  my  mother's  blessing!" 

He  seated  himself,  and  let  us  do  just  what  we  pleased,  and 
was  good  and  quiet  as  a  friendly  child.  Hagar  attended  on 
him  with  great  skill,  and  succeeded  in  stopping,  in  some 
measure,  the  flow  of  blood.  In  the  mean  time  I  procured 
writing  materials,  and  hastened  to  send  a  note  to  Bear  to 
inform  him  of  that  which  had  taken  place.  The  whole  house 
was  in  motion,  and  it  was  easy  to  find  a  messenger,  who 
betook  himself  immediately  across  the  lake  to  E/Osenvik.  I 
then  returned  again  to  the  reconciled  ones.  Bruno's  wounds 
were  bound  up.  He  was  very  pale  but  still,  and  his  coun- 
tenance had  an  expression  of  peace  and  happiness  which  I 
saw  for  the  first  time  in  it.  Ma  chere  mere,  on  the  contrary, 
appeared  powerfully  excited,  although  she  endeavoured  to 
be  quiet.  Her  whole  frame  trembled  as  with  excessive  cold, 
but  her  eyes  were  mild  and  tender ;  she  scarcely  ever  re- 
moved them  from  her  son. 

"  Hear  now  what  I  have  to  beg  of  you,"  said  I  to  them 
both.  "  If  you  would  live  for  each  other,  you  must  consent 
to  separate  for  a  short  time,  and  must  each  endeavour  to  get 
some  rest.  Bruno,  cannot  you  allow  yourself  to  be  con- 
ducted to  the  next  chamber?  Will  not  Ma  chere  mere 
oblige  her  Fransiska?" 

But  Ma  chere  mere  answered,  "AVTio  knows  how  long 
mother  and  son  have  yet  to  live  ?  It  may  soon  be  all  over  ; 
separate  us  not." 

"  Separate  us  not,"  replied  Bruno,  with  a  faint  voice. 

"  But  at  least  you  must  take  something  composing.  "Why 
would  you  not  live  for  one  another  ?" 

Hagar  put  a  phial  containing  an  opiate  into  my  hand.  Ma 


FEA^SISKA  TVERNER  TO  MARIA 


259 


ehere  mere,  however,  refused  to  take  any ;  Bruno  put  it  to  liis 
mouth  and  took  a  considerable  draught.  He  must  have  been 
accustomed  to  this  means  of  stupefaction. 

"  I  will  willingly  remain  alone  with  my  son,"  said  Ma  chere 
mere.  "  When  he  sleeps,  I  will  watch  over  him.  I  have  done  it 
formerly,  and  in  this  very  room.  Thou,  Fransiska,  needest 
rest.  Gro,  my  child,  and  endeavour  to  sleep.  But  hear; — 
first  let  it  be  seen  that  my  bays  are  well  cared  for.  A 
greater  ser\ice  than  they  have  rendered  me  to-night  have 
they  never  rendered  me  these  fifteen  years.  Inquire  after 
the  lacquey.    Do  that,  Fransiska.    Good  night,  my  child." 

I  went  out,  and  saw  that  Ma  chere  mere's  commands  were 
executed.  The  bays  were  eating  their  oats  in  their  stalls ; 
the  little  lacquey  sate  in  the  kitchen,  with  a  great  piece  of 
bread-and-butter  in  hand  and  mouth.  Prom  him  I  heard  a  long 
and  not  very  lucid  relation,  of  how  the  carriage  had  been  on 
the  very  point  of  upsetting  into  the  lake, — how  the  strange 
gentleman  had  been  so  much  hurt  by  the  horses,  but  yet  had 
mastered  them, — how  Ma  chere  mere  had  carried  me  into  the 
house,  while  the  gentleman  held  the  horses,  and  how  the  boy 
did  not  know  whether  he  were  living  or  dead,  etc.  After  I 
had  heard  all  this,  I  took  a  cup  of  coffee,  and  ordered  that  a 
cup  should  also  be  taken  to  Ma  chere  mere,  who  loves  coffee 

Refreshed  by  this  warm  and  inspiriting  beverage,  I  went — 
not  to  bed.  No,  I  was  far  too  much  excited,  too  restless  ;  and 
felt  an  indescribable  desire  to  breathe  the  free  air,  and  to  see 
Grod's  heaven.  I  saw  it.  I  thought  I  had  never  beheld  it 
more  beautiful ;  oh !  it  expanded  itself  now  over  reconciled 
and  happy  hearts.  It  was  cloudy,  but  the  clouds  were  growing 
momentarily  thinner,  and  through  them  glanced  the  friendly 
blue,  and  the  air  was  indescribably  pure  and  mild.  I  seated 
myself  on  the  great  flight  of  stone  steps,  and  saw  the  dawning 
morning,  and  thought  on  the  reconciled  ones.  Sanguine 
flames  flew  up  from  the  horizon,  and  flushed  the  grey  clouds* 
these  mirrored  themselves  ruddily  in  the  lake,  and  the  windows 
of  the  dark  house  became  illuminated  one  after  another  as 
with  an  incarnadine  light  by  the  glow  of  the  morning  red. 
A  soft  wind  went  soughing  through  the  lofty  oaks,  and  bend- 
ing their  lofty  heads.  All  besides  was  still.  Thus  sate  I  long, 
and  felt  deep  enjoyment ;  thought  much,  and  lived  over  much 
in  these  moments.    Never  had  existence  appeared  to  me  so 

b2 


20C 


THE  NEIGHBOURS. 


beaut  Jul  and  full  of  interest;  never  had  I  more  intensely 
loved,  more  confidently  believed  in  the  operation  of  a  Divine 
power  in  life ;  never  had  I  enjoyed  more  exalted  being  than  in 
this  hour.  I  shall  never  forget  it !  I  thought  of  Bear  with 
tenderness  and  pride.  I  felt  myself  happy  to  live  for  him. 
I  thought  on  the  future ;  and  marvellous  feelings,  presenti- 
ments full  of  joy  and  sorrow,  arose  in  my  soul : — later  may  I 
perhaps  speak  further  of  them. 

I  perceived  the  approach  of  some  one  behind  me.  I  turned, 
and  on  the  steps  beheld  Hagar,  who,  with  an  expression  of 
great  anxiety,  her  hands  crossed  on  her  bosom,  drew  near  me, 
and  in  her  broken  Swedish  asked  eagerly — "  What  think  you  r 
Will  he  live  ?    Say,  oh  say,  that  he  will  live  !" 

"  I  believe — I  hope  it,"  I  answered.  "  My  husband  is  ? 
physician ;  he  will  soon  be  here,  and  will  devote  all  his  cart 
to  him." 

Hagar  left  me,  wound  her  naked  arms  round  one  of  the 
granite  columns  of  the  portico,  and  pressed  her  brow  against  it. 
When  she  had  stood  thus  for  a  moment,  she  raised  her  head, 
and  looked  towards  the  east,  where  the  morning  red  now 
burned  in  all  its  glory.  I  had  not  before  regarded  Hagar  at- 
tentively !  I  did  it  now,  and  was  astonished  at  her  beauty. 
She  was  no  longer  young,  and  the  features  were  too  marked, 
but  they  were  of  the  purest  form;  though  the  voluptuous  and 
full  lips  reminded  one  too  much  of  the  characteristic,  and  to 
my  taste  unpleasant,  peculiarity  of  the  Hebrew  form  of  coun- 
tenance. The  dark  hue  of  the  face  was  now  illumined  by  the 
roseate  fire  of  the  morning  sun ;  the  black  and  uncovered  hair 
fell  neglected  on  the  shoulders.  I  forgot  for  a  moment  every- 
thing else  in  the  observation  of  this  figure,  which  seemed  grown 
into  union  v\^ith  the  granite  pillar.  The  expression  of  the  coun- 
tenance was  full  of  passion  and  grief. 

After  some  moments,  Hagar  left  her  position  and  ap- 
proached me.  "Believe  you,"  asked  she,  stretching  out  her 
arm  towards  the  east — "  believe  you  that  He  who  causes  that 
light  to  ascend,  also  hears  the  prayers  of  men  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  believe  it,"  I  replied,  with  quiet  confidence. 

"  And  answers  them?" 

"  When  they  proceed  from  a  pure  heart,  and  He  in  his 
wisdom  finds  it  good." 

Hagar  was  silent  for  a  moment,  bowed  her  head,  and  said 


TRAIfSISKA  WERNER  TO  MARIA  M. 


261 


"  If  you  have  a  clean  heart,  pray  for  him  who  bleeds  within. 
Pray  that  he  may  live." 

"Tou  take  a  warm  interest  in  him,"  said  I,  not  without 
curiosity.  "  Tou  are,  perhaps,  nearly  connected  with  him  ; 
or  " 

She  cast  a  penetrating  look  at  me,  and  then  said,  with  an 
expression  fcdl  of  pride  and  pain,  "  Hngar  was  a  handmaid. 
At  one  time  she  was  loved  by  her  master,  and  for  his  sake 
she  forsook  all,  and  went  forth  with  him  into  strange,  cold 
lands  ;  then  cast  he  her  off  for  another  woman ;  but  her 
heart  was  true  to  him,  and  in  the  wilderness  into  which  she 
was  cast  forth,  she  prayed  for  him  to  the  Lord  of  heaven." 

"  Hagar,"  said  I,  taking  up  her  words,  "  was  not  alone  in 
the  wilderness.  "When  she  turned  in  her  affliction  to  Grod, 
he  commanded  a  well  of  fresh  water  to  spring  up  for  her." 

Hagar  shook  her  head  in  a  mournful  scepticism,  laid  a 
finger  on  her  mouth,  while  with  the  other  hand  she  pointed 
to  the  house,  and  left  me  in  haste. 

I  was  in  the  act  to  follow  her,  for  I  found  the  air  now  to 
become  colder,  but  I  continued  standing ;  for — for — what 
thinkest  thou  I  perceived  now  in  the  avenue,  whipping  and 
trotting  this  way  on  a  panting  steed,  fluttering  through  the 
wood  like  a  great,  great  bat  ?  No  other  than  my  own  good, 
longed-for  Bear !  I  scarcely  dared  to  believe  my  own  eyes, 
since  it  was  impossible  that  the  messenger  could  already  have 
arrived ;  and  besides,  why  came  he  so  miserably  mounted, 
and  not  perfectly  at  his  ease  in  a  boat  over  the  lake  ?  I  was 
ready  to  dispute  the  evidence  of  my  own  eyes,  but  he  came 
continually  nearer  ;  it  was  impossible  longer  to  doubt.  He 
dismounted,  and  I  flew  towards  him  as  he  towards  me. 

"  Art  thou  really  then  my  own  Bear,  and  no  bat  ?"  I  ex- 
claimed, as  I  embraced  him  with  transport. 

"  Art  thou  really  my  own  wife,  and  no  half-crazed  moon- 
shine princess,  who  sits  there  " 

"  Ah !  Bear,  we  have  no  time  to  joke.  Say,  how  camest 
thou  here?  Dost  thou  know  what  has  happened?  Hast 
thou  received  my  note  ?  But  why  camest  thou  on  horse- 
back ?  How  warm  thou  art!  Ah!  come  in.  Bear,  and  I 
will  tell  thee  all,  and  hear  all  thou  hast  to  say." 

"My  sweet  child!  thou  hast  sometimes  such  a  horrible 
flux  de  bouche  ;  now  God  be  praised  that  thou  art  alive,  and 


2G2 


THE  NEIGHBOUES. 


hast  the  gift  of  speech and  with  tears  in  his  honest  ejes, 
the  good  man  held  me  long  pressed  to  his  heart. 

As  we  went  in  I  relateii  shortly  how  things  here  stood, 
and  learned  from  Bear  how  he  had  come  hither.  He  was 
become  uneasy  at  my  long  stay,  and  fearing  that  some  acci- 
dent had  occurred,  he  prepared  to  set  out  for  the  city  ;  and 
having  had  the  luck  to  break  the  cabriolet,  he  mounted  the 
horse,  and  rode  off  like  another  Don  Quixote  in  quest  of  his 
Dulcinea.  On  the  w^ay  he  met  a  servant  from  fiamm,  who 
liad  also  business  in  the  city,  and  learned  from  him  that  Ma 
chere  mere  had  got  hither,  and  also  a  certain  other  lady,  and 
that  both  were  alive.  "  More,"  said  Bear,  I  did  not  hear. 
I  gave  the  grey  the  whip,  and  here  I  am.'*  We  embraced 
again  in  our  joy  at  this  double  reunion,  and  Bear  went  in  to 
the  patients. 

I  fellow^ed  him  not,  but  went  and  made  myself  at  home  in 
the  kitchen,  and  saw  a  hearty  breakfast  prepared  for  him. 
The  good  people  showed  me  thorough  good-will  in  fulfilling 
my  commands,  and  in  half  an  hour  I  had  a  table  set  out  in 
the  dining-room,  with  hot  coffee,  bread-and-butter,  and  a 
dish  of  delicious  beefsteaks.  My  very  mouth  watered  on 
Bear's  behalf.  Whilst  I  was  still  busily  arranging  the  table, 
the  good  man  entered,  with  a  pale,  serious,  but  contented 
countenance. 

"Now,  how  do  you  find  matters?"  asked  I,  in  breathless 
eagerness.  "  But,  no  ;  say  nothing  ;  sit  down  and  eat ;  only 
one  word — look  aifairs  w^ell  or  ill  ?" 

"  With  Bruno,  well,  I  hope.  The  loss  of  blood  is  great ; 
the  wounds  are  deep,  but  so  far  as  I  can  at  present  see,  not 
dangerous.  With  Ma  chere  mere  it  is  not  well ;  at  least, 
not  yet ;  but  it  may  be.  I  fancy  thou  canst  go  in,  Fanny  ; 
and  in  the  mean  time  I  will  send  a  messenger  to  the  city  for 
Bundry  requisites." 

"  And  the  cofffee — and  the  beefsteak?"  I  exclaimed  in 
consternation. 

"  I  cannot  think  about  them  at  present,"  replied  Bear,  and 
hastened  out  of  the  room,  with  a  look  at  the  beefsteak,  as  if 
the  devil  himself  had  taken  flesh  and  blood  in  order  to  tempt 
him.  I  covered,  with  a  sigh,  the  warm  beefsteak  wdth  a  platO; 
and  went  in  to  Ma  chere  mere.  Scarcely  had  I  passed  the 
door,  when  I  saw  with  amazement  how  Bear  had  lorded  it  therB 


FHANSISKA  WEBNEE  TO  MARIA  M. 


263 


Wtat  I  had  attempted  iu  vain  to  effect  by  solicitations,  he  had 
ordered  and  settled  at  once.  Bruno  had  been  conveyed  intj 
the  room  adjoining  that  in  which  Ma  chere  mere  lay ;  Hagar 
was  beside  him,  and  the  door  stood  open  between  the  rooms. 
Ma  chere  mere  was  alone. 

As  I  entered,  Ma  chere  mere  extended  her  hand,  drew  me 
towards  her,  and  embraced  me  with  a  tenderness  which  deeply 
moved  me.  "  Fransiska,"  said  she,  ''the  Lord  has  changed 
my  heart.  Before,  all  was  so  dark,  so  strange  ;  now  all  feels 
80  clear  and  comfortable.  Wonderful  are  the  ways  of  the 
Lord  !  Who  can  comprehend  them  ?  Who  can  climb  into 
the  council-chamber  of  God  ?  Thus  have  I  a  son  again, 
Fransiska  !  I  am  not  childless.  Bruno  will  make  amends 
for  that  which  he  has  done  amiss.  He  will  yet  do  honour 
to  his  mother  and  his  native  land.  The  Bible  is  right ; — a 
man  may  fall  seven  times,  and  yet  rise  again.  Transiska  ! 
and  he  was  so  long  near  me,  and  I  did  not  know  it !  My 
senses  were  blinded,  and  my  heart  shut  up,  but  the  Lord  has 
opened  its  sluices.  Thy  husband,  Transiska,  has  exercised 
his  tyranny  here,  and  I  have  allowed  him  to  do  it,  because 
he  asserted  that  otherwise  he  could  not  answer  for  the  life  of 
Bruno  ;  but  I  will  see  my  son  again  to-day  ;  and  no  one  need 
think  of  preventing  me.  I  ivill  see  him  !  AVho  knows  how 
long  I  may  see  him  in  this  world  ?" 

"  Long,  very  long,  I  hope,  if  Ma  chere  mere  will  do  every- 
thing that  Bear  prescribes." 

"  See  there  now !  how  the  good  wife  boasts  of  her  husband, 
and  counts  him  for  omnipotent !  But  the  Lord  does  as  he 
wills,  Fransiska." 

"  Do  you  feel  ill,  mother  ?"  I  asked  tenderly,  and  with 
anxiety. 

"  No — not  ill,  but  I  feel  so  strangely.  I  have  no  strength 
in  my  legs.  I  cannot  stand.  There  is  a  conflict,  a  disturb- 
ance within  me,  which  seems  to  me  as  if  it  preceded  death. 
The  Lord's  will  be  done !  I  have  been  permitted  to  bless 
my  son,  and  he  will  close  my  eyes.    I  can  die  in  peace." 

"Mother,  you  will  not  die;  no,  no!"  exclaimed  I  eagerly, 
"  follow  only  in  all  things  Bear's  prescriptions." 

Ma  chere  mere  smiling  made  a  sort  of  disdainful  motion 
with  her  hand,  and  lay  still,  her  eyes  turned  towards  the  door 


264 


TUE  NEIGHBOUPS. 


of  Bruno's  room.  Bejoiced  as  I  was  over  lier  disposition  ol 
mind,  I  was  equally  uneasy  as  to  her  state  of  health.  She 
appeared  to  me  feverish,  and  there  was  something  fixed  and 
dry  in  her  look.  The  powerful  burst  of  tears  which  is  wont 
to  accompany  great  agitation  of  feeling  in  her,  had  been  in 
this  case  absent.  The  storm  had  wholly  diverted  itself  in- 
wards. "  Go  and  see  whether  he  sleeps,"  said  she,  pointing 
towards  Bruno's  room. 

I  went ;  he  lay  actually  in  a  quiet  slumber.  He  was  very 
pale,  but  he  seemed  to  me  more  handsome  than  ever.  The 
brows  so  often  drawn  together  were  now  parted,  and  swept 
in  mild  lines  over  the  great  arch  of  the  eyes.  A  tear  glit- 
tered on  his  colourless  cheek.  Opposite  to  him,  her  arm 
supported  against  the  bedpost  and  her  head  on  her  hand, 
stood  Hagar,  her  gaze  fixed  immovably  on  his  face.  Her 
rich  black  locks  fell  down  over  her  arm,  and  left  only  to  view 
the  profile  of  her  countenance.  Again  was  I  compelled  to 
admire  her  regular  and  oriental  beauty.  She  saw  me  not, 
and  I  softly  returned  to  Ma  chere  mere,  and  said — "  He 
sleeps."    "  Heaven  bless  his  sleep  !"  she  replied. 

Soon  afterwards  I  heard  somewhat  move  in  the  dining- 
room,  and  immediately  thinking  of  Bear,  I  begged  Ma  chere 
mere  to  excuse  me  a  minute.  I  really  found  my  Bear  in  the 
dining-room.  He  had  made  an  attack  on  the  beefsteak,  but 
yet  was  not  so  much  occupied  with  it  as  not  to  become  aware 
of  my  entrance,  and  to  extend  to  me  heartily  his  hand.  I 
placed  myself  near  him  ;  saw  him  despatch  his  breakfast,  and 
rejoiced  my-self  in  his  excellent  appetite.  When  the  first 
vigour  of  this  was  abated,  I  began  more  fully  to  relate  the 
occurrences  of  the  night.  To  say  the  truth,  it  seemed  to  me 
as  if  during  this  night,  on  many  occasions,  I  had  shown  my- 
self half  a  heroine,  and  I  wished  Bear  properly  to  feel  this, 
and  I  was  at  some  trouble  to  extract  a  little  commendation 
from  him.  But,  to  my  mortification,  he  was  invincibly  dumb, 
and  only  at  times  made  abominable  grimaces,  which  I  fancy 
were  meant  for  bulwarks  against  the  outbreak  of  tears ;  but 
when  I  came  to  the  reconciliation,  then  they  burst  forth. 
Two  great  tears  fell,  and  diluted  his  beefsteak  gravy.  In  the 
mean  time  I  paused  awhile,  to  give  the  good  man  opportunity 
tx)  fall  into  ecstasies  over  his  wife.    But  I  heard  not  a  word 


FEAlfSISKA  WEENEB  TO  MAKIA  M. 


265 


When,  howuver,  I  arrived  at  mj  administering  of  the  opiate, 
he  broke  out  suddenly — "  Nay,  this  was  the  most  crazy  of 
all !    Opium  to  a  man  that  is  dying  of  exhaustion  !" 

I  was  like  one  fallen  from  the  clouds.  I  sate  with  open 
mouth,  but  could  not  speak. 

"No,  that  was  not  the  craziest,"  muttered  Bear;  "the 
most  crack-brained  of  all  was  for  a  married  woman  of  thirty 
years  of  age,  from  whom  one  would  have  expected  more  sense, 
to  seat  herself  at  midnight  on  a  stone  step  in  the  open  air 
like  a  mad-woman !" 

"  Oh,  thou  most  abominable  of  all  Bears  !"  I  at  length  ex- 
claimed, again  regaining  my  voice  ;  "  every  word  that  thou 
speakest  is  false.  In  the  first  place  I  am  no  thirty  years'  old 
woman  ;  and  in  the  second  " 

"  In  the  second,  third,  last,"  cried  Bear,  embracing  me, 
"  thou  art  my  own  wife ;  and  I  promise  thee,  that  if  it 
happen  again  that  thou  art  so  thoughtless,  I  will  be  very 
angry  with  thee." 

Did  you  ever  hear  the  like,  Maria  ?  'For  my  part,  I  was 
so  surprised  by  such  an  overturning  of  all  my  hopes  of  praise, 
that  I  fell  quite  out  of  the  conceit,  and  became  as  still  as  a 
good  sheep.  This  naturally  pleased  my  lord  and  Bear  very 
weU,  and  now  he  tyrannised  further,  and  compelled  me  to  go 
to  rest,  during  which  time  he  would  attend  to  the  patients, 
and  make  the  necessary  arrangements  for  them.  "What  was 
to  be  done  ?  I  must  obey,  and  I  acknowledge  that  I  reaped 
the  benefit  of  it.  In  a  little  lovely  boudoir,  furnished  with 
red  and  white  damask,  which  lay  on  the  other  side  of  the 
drawing-room,  I  enjoyed  some  hours  of  sweet  refreshing 
sleep.  When  I  awoke,  I  saw  Hagar's  head  thrust  in  at  the 
door.  Her  countenance  beamed  with  a  joy  that  seemed  to 
border  on  wildness.  "He  will  live!  He  will  live!"  she 
exclaimed  to  me.  She  stooped  over  me,  and  kissed  passion- 
ately many  times  my  hand  ;  raised  herself  again  ;  went  to  and 
fro  in  the  room,  smote  her  hands  together,  and  laughed 
almost  convulsively  ;  while  she  exclaimed — "  He  will  live ! 
He  will  live !" 

She  made  a  strange  impression  on  me.    The  wild  and 

Eassionate  in  her  nature,  associated  w'th  the  ideas  which 
entertain  of  her  connexion  with  Brun;:,  excited  my  aversion 
while  her  love  and  beauty  irresistibly  attracted  me. 


266 


THE  KEIGHBOUES. 


When  I  entered  the  drawing-room  it  was  full  of  people. 
There  was  Elsa  with  a  whole  load  of  things  for  her  mistress; 
there  was  Tuttin  ;  there  w^ere  Jean  Jacques  and  Jane  Marie. 
Bear  stood  like  a  Pasha,  if  a  Pasha  ever  stands,  in  the  middle 
of  the  drawing-room,  answering  inquiries,  issuing  commands, 
sending  hither  and  thither.  To  my  great  amazement  and  joy 
I  heard  that  Ma  chere  mere  had  been  bled.  She  had  wil- 
lingly consented  to  this  proposal  of  Bear.  Singularly  enough 
she  has  faith  in  surgery,  but  the  most  insuperable  distrust  to 
medicine,  and  will  on  no  condition  take  it.  After  the  bleed- 
ing she  had  had  more  rest,  but  as  yet  no  sleep. 

I  had  now  to  relate  to  Jean  Jacques  and  Jane  Marie  all 
that  had  occurred,  and  the  manner  with  which  they  received 
it  gave  me  sincere  pleasure.  They  were  both  touched,  and 
cordially  glad  at  the  reconciliation,  although  this  will  essen- 
tially change  their  prospects.  Elsa  interrupted  our  con- 
versation, to  call  me  in  to  Ma  chere  mere.  I  found  Bear 
with  her. 

"  He  wishes  that  I  should  sleep,"  said  Ma  chere  mere, 
not  without  sadness ;  "he  wishes  that  I  should  close  my 
eyes  in  rest,  and  I  have  not  yet  by  the  light  of  day  beheld 
my  only  son  ;  he  who  has  just  ventured  his  own  life  to  save 
mine.  But  I  tell  you  that  till  I  have  seen  him  I  can  have 
no  rest,  neither  in  soul  nor  body ;  and  had  I  but  strength  in 
my  legs  I  would,  upon  my  soul !  ask  nobody's  leave." 

"Bear!"  said  I  aside  to  him,  "  hinder  her  not.  Let  her 
have  her  will.  The  will  of  man  is,  indeed,  his  kingdom  of 
heaven." 

"Dear  child,  dear  child,  with  thy  kingdoms  of  heaven!" 
said  Bear  with  a  fierce  grimace,  and  rubbed  his  head,  "  such 
kingdoms  of  heaven  may  lead  to  hell,  or  at  least  to  death,  if 
they  are  permitted  at  improper  times." 

"  But  thou  thyself  seest,  that  here  will  certainly  be  no  king- 
dom of  heaven,  if  Ma  chere  mere  have  not  her  will.  And  that, 
too,  is  perfectly  natural.  I  should  be  in  her  place  exactly 
the  same.  Let  her  see  her  son ;  Bruno,  indeed,  can  come 
to  her." 

"  JSTay,  the  devil !  he  must  not  to-day  stir  from  the  spot. 
If  they  must  of  necessity  see  one  another,  and  agitate  one 
another,  then  it  will  be  better  that  she  be  moved  to  him.  It 
i3  inconceivable  that  people  cannot  


FEANSISKA  WEKNER  TO  MAEIA  M. 


2G7 


"  Don't  stand  there  talking,"  said  Ma  chere  mere  passion- 
ately, "but  come  liither,  and  if  you  have  any  reason  and 
feeling,  help  me  to  my  son.  I  promise  that  the  interview 
shall  be  short,  and  that  we  will  not  speak." 

Bear  resisted  no  longer.  He  raised  her  on  one  side,  Elsa 
and  I  on  the  other,  and  thus  carried  her,  and  set  her  in  a 
great  easy-chair  by  Bruno's  bedside.  It  was  a  silent,  but 
aifecting  scene.  We  saw  in  both  how  complete  the  recon- 
ciliation was.  "WTien  Ma  chere  mere  had  sate  thus,  probably 
ten  minutes,  she  laid  her  hand,  as  it  were,  in  blessing,  on 
Bruno's  forehead  and  breast.  He  would  have  spoken,  but 
she  laid  in  prohibition  her  hand  on  his  lips.  A  tear  bedewed 
his  cheek.  Oh !  how  I  longed  to  see  such  a  one  in  the 
eyes  of  the  mother ;  but  they  continued  dry,  although  they 
were  full  of  love.  She  gave  us  a  sign  that  she  would  be  re- 
moved ;  and  it  was  high  time,  for  she  was  violently  affected, 
and  deadly  pale. 

When  she  T^  as  again  in  her  bed,  she  lay  for  a  moment  still 
and  with  folded  hands  seemed  to  pray.  She  then  beckoned 
me  to  her,  and  said  with  a  proud  joy,  "  How  large  he  is 
grown  ;  a  handsome  man,  Fransiska !  I  can  now  see  that  he 
is  very  like  my  husband — a  real  Hercules  !  Nay,  nay,  he  is 
descended  from  nothing  weakly  or  ugly,  on  either  the 
father  or  mother's  side.  But  all  tliis  is  foolish,"  added  she 
wdth  a  sigh,  which  was  meant  to  be  humble,  "  therein  consists 
not  the  worth  of  man." 

Ma  chere  mere  allowed  Jean  Jacques  and  Jane  Marie  now 
to  come  in,  and  was  very  friendly  towards  them.  When 
Jane  Marie  understood  that  I  was  to  continue  at  Ramm  so 
long  as  Ma  chere  mere  remained  there,  she  became  quite 
short  towards  me,  and  took  a  cold  leave.  That  gave  me  pain. 
But  so  far  as  I  am  concerned,  I  must  prepare  myself  to  con- 
tinue here  so  long  as  Ma  chere  mere  is  ill.  She  and  Bear 
wish  it,  nor  I  the  less  so.  I  could  not  possibly  leave  her  so 
ong  as  her  state  is  at  all  doubtful.  "  If  she  could  only 
sleep,"  says  Bear,  "  all  danger  would  be  over."  But  sleep 
comes  not  into  her  eyes,  and  an  internal  restlessness  wears 
her.  I  have  written  this  during  the  two  days  which  I  have 
spent  here,  and  during  those  two  days  she  has  not  slept  a 
moment,  and  persists  in  her  refusal  to  take  anything.  Evei3 
Bruno's  entreaties  in  this  case  have  no  influence  over  her 


268 


THE  NEIGHBOURS. 


Medicine,  she  says,  has  always  been  poison  to  her.  I  haTe 
my  desk  in  her  bed-chamber ;  she  hears  with  pleasure  tho 
light  scratching  of  my  pen  ;  she  says  it  quietens  her.  Bruno 
is  better ;  but  is  not  allowed  to  move,  nor  scarcely  to  speak. 
Bear  is  really  a  very  strict  doctor ;  that  I  see.  I  almost 
think  I  shall  not  have  him  for  mine.  I  told  him  this  ;  but 
he  only  made  a  contemptuous  grimace,  and  said,  "  That  we 
shall  soon  see."  I  know  not  how  I  can  write  in  so  gay  a 
mood — Ma  chere  mere's  condition  distresses  me  much — but 
I  have  so  many  things  to  divert  my  attention,  and  besides 
this,  Ma  chere  mere  herself  is  in  so  fresh  and  happy  a  humour, 
that  I  cannot  be  otherwise  than  glad  on  account  of  it.  Grod 
only  grant  that  this  aifair  have  no  sorrowful  end !  May  I  be 
able  in  my  next  letter  to  say  that  all  here  is,  indeed,  as  joyful 
as  it  now  is  well. 


CHAPTEE  XIV. 

Ramm,  September  6th. 

I  AM  completely  inundated  with  inquiries,  notes,  and  visits. 
The  rumour  of  that  which  has  taken  place  flies  about,  and 
has  changed  the  whole  neighbourhood  into  a  committee  of 
inquiry.  All  stream  hitherward.  Everybody  asks,  wonders, 
hopes,  and  congratulates.  Ma  chere  mere  appears  to  be  the 
highest  notability  of  the  country.  Even  the  mayor  and 
aldermen  of  the  town  have  sent  to  inquire  how  she  is.  She 
has  by  degrees  come  to  be  regarded  as  half  a  magistrate 
herself,  since  she  so  emphatically  exerts  herself  against  all 
disorders  in  the  town,  and  gives  occasionally  to  the  mayor 
and  aldermen  good  dinners. 

The  state  of  Ma  chere  mere,  alas !  continues  exactly  the 
same.  It  is  now  three  days  since  she  has  slept,  and  Bear  is 
very  much  troubled  about  it ;  which,  however,  I  rather  see 
than  hear.  At  this  moment  I  receive  a  note  from  Serena, 
which  I  here  transcribe. 

"  Grood  Fransiska,  give  me  a  word,  and  if  possible  a  con- 
solatory one.  There  are  such  strange  reports  !  People  say 
that  Madame  Mansfelt  has  been  in  great  danger ;  that  Mr. 

 (thou  knowest  who  I  mean)  rescued  her  from  it ;  that 

she  has  recognised  her  son  in  him  ;  that  i\ej  are  reconciled, 


FEAXSISKA  WEENEB  TO  MAEIA  M. 


269 


Dut  both  are  now  dying.  It  is  said  that  th}*  life  has  also  been 
in  danger.  People  talk  so  much,  and  such  confused  things 
are  said.  I  called  on  thee  yesterday  at  Eosenvik,  but  thou 
wast  not  there  !  thou  wast  at  Eamm,  Sissa  said.  Thy  flowers 
looked  out  of  spirits.  I  endeavoured  to  refresh  them  with 
water,  which  succeeded  ;  but  I  also,  Fanny,  am  out  of  spirits, 
and  all  which  since  yesterday  I  have  read  to  grandpapa  is 
Latm  for  me.  My  good,  dear  Tanny,  send  a  cheering  word 
to  thy 

"  Seeena." 

Yes,  Serena !  not  merely  one  word,  but  many  shalt  thou 
have.  I  reproach  myself  for  not  having  prevented  thy  wish. 
Good  heart !  who  would  not  give  thee  comfort.  I  leave  thee 
a  moment,  Maria,  in  order  to  WTite  to  Serena. 

8th. 

Still  the  same  and  the  same !  ISTo  sleep — no  rest.  An 
inveterate  watchfulness — an  incessant,  internal  restlessness, 
which  for  those  who  are  about  Ma  chere  mere  is  something 
indescribably  painful.  She  herself  is  now  fully  persuaded 
that  she  shall  die,  and  has  to-day  made  her  will.  I  was  pre- 
sent, and  must  indeed  admire  her  immovable  sense  of  right, 
as  well  as  the  conscientiousness  with  which  she  embraces 
everything  which  in  any  manner  is  placed  beneath  her  pro- 
tection. Eemarkable  is  also  the  thorough  knowledge  which 
she  has  of  all,  the  smallest  affairs,  and  the  exactness  and 
perspicuity  with  which  she  regulates  whatever  concerns  them. 
It  is  an  iron  regularity,  which  descends  even  to  littleness ; 
but  in  taking  leave  of  earthly  concerns  this  is  worthy  of  re- 
spect. Ma  chere  mere  showed  herself  on  this  occasion  as  she 
has  done  her  whole  life  through — strict,  upright,  and  syste- 
matic, benevolent  without  boasting,  firm  in  friendship,  and 
grateful. 

At  the  same  time  I  cannot  bring  myself  to  believe  that  she 
will  die.  Bear  appears  rather  to  fear  for  her  understanding. 
He  speculates  on  giving  her  a  sleeping  potion ;  but  how  she 
is  to  be  persuaded  to  drink  it  is  another  matter.  She  herself 
will  not  hear  it  said  that  she  shall  live.  She  has,  as  she  says, 
taken  her  resolution,  and  has  fully  resigned  herself  to  death, 
and  thinks  only  how  best  to  prepare  herself  for  it. 


270 


THE  NEIGHBOURS. 


9th. 

A  singular  scene  !  What  strange  jdeas  can  there  not  enter 
into  people's  heads  !  This  morning  Ma  chere  mere  ordered 
a  joiner  to  be  sent  for — nobody  could  conceive  wherefore. 
When  he  arrived,  she  sent  for  him  into  her  chamber,  and 
commanded  him  to  measure  her  for — her  coffin ! 

She  gave  the  most  particular  directions  as  to  the  ornaments 
of  the  coffin,  and  made  me  write  down  what  should  stand 
as  the  inscription  on  the  breastplate.  The  door  of  Bruno's 
room,  during  this  proceeding,  was  carefully  shut. 

"  And  now.  Master  Svensson,"  said  she,  as  this  was  aU 
accomplished,  "what  is  to  be  the  price  of  the  coffin  ?" 

Embarrassed  and  astounded  with  these  proceedings,  the 
joiner  bethought  himself  awhile,  and  then  said,  "  Fifty  dollars 
banco,  your  ladyship." 

"  Are  you  mad,  Master  Svensson  ?"  demanded  keenly  Ma 
chere  mere.  "  Fifty  dollars  banco  !  five  and  twenty  rix- 
doUars  more  than  you  charged  for  the  coffin  of  my  late  hus- 
band ?  Bethink  yourself  what  you  are  saying.  I  can  show 
you  the  bill  for  the  General's  coffin.  Master  Svensson." 

"  Oak,  your  ladyship,  is  become  so  dear  since  then." 

"  And  who,  the  devil !  told  you  to  make  it  of  oak  ?  For 
what  I  care  you  may  use  birch,  or  alder,  or  fir,  or  what  w^ood 
you  will.  The  wretched  body  is  but  dust,  I  think,  whether 
it  lie  in  a  coffin  of  oak  or  of  deal.  '  Let  death  but  strike, 
we're  all  alike.'  It  is  true  I  am  of  an  old  noble  family,  and 
so  was  also  my  husband,  the  late  General  Mansfelt ;  but  what 
then,  Master  Svensson, — 

When  Adam  delved  and  Eve  span, 
Where  was  then  the  gentleman  ? 

And  where  is  he  when  the  body  lies  in  the  grave  ?  Take  deal, 
or  rather  birch,  for  my  coffin,  good  Master  Svensson,  and  lev 
it  be  fifty  rix-doUars." 

"  Sixty  rix-dollars,  your  ladyship." 

"  Fifty  rix-dollars.  Master  Svensson,  I  won't  give  more  ; 
and  you  may  regulate  yourself  accordingly.  Fifty  rix- 
dollars,  money  of  the  realm,  I  say.  Not  a  shilling  more; 
but  I  invite  you  to  the  funeral  feast  which  my  people  will 
hold.  Eemember,  Fransiska,  that  Master  Svensson  is  to  be 
there,  or — I  vn.Ll  remember  it  myself,  when  I  give  the  orders 
for  the  funeral     Good-bye,  my  good  Master  Svensson.  Th© 


YEAlfSISKA  WEENER  TO  MAKIA  M. 


271 


agreement  stands.  Thanks  for  your  trouble,  Master  Svensson. 
Good-bye!" 

So  much  as  I  have  seen  of  Ma  chere  mere's  singularities,  I 
must  yet  confess  that  this  scene  amazed  me  not  a  little.  I 
saw,  however,  clearly  that  no  fondness  for  peculiarity,  but  an 
inveterate  propensity  to  manage  and  rule  everything,  led  her 
to  bespeak  her  own  coffin,  and  settle  its  character  and  price. 
Ma  chere  mere  seemed  to  find  the  whole  business  perfectly 
natural ;  and  said  to  me  as  soon  as  the  joiner  was  gone, 
"  These  workpeople  are  always  greedy  animals;  one  must  make 
the  closest  bargains  with  them ;  but  their  fox  shall  not  bite 
my  goose."  On  this  she  proceeded  to  give  the  orders  for  her 
funeral.  She  dictated,  and  I  wrote,  how  the  whole  should 
be  arranged;  how  many  pounds  of  confections  should  be 
purchased,  and  so  on.  She  ordered  a  messenger  to  be  sent 
to  the  rector  of  her  parish,  to  request  him  to  come  the  next 
day  to  Eamm.  "  I  will,"  she  said,  "  die  as  becomes  a  Chris- 
tian." All  these  things  being  settled,  she  expressed  much 
satisfaction,  and  asked  me  to  give  her  somewhat  to  drink. 
"The  old  beverage,"  said  she,  "I  am  grown  quite  tired  of. 
I  would  fain  have  something  different,  but  I  know  not 
what." 

A  lucky  thought  occiured  to  me,  and  I  hastened  to  say, 
"  I  have  a  receipt  for  a  kind  of  lemonade  ;  properly  a  kind  oi 
toast  and  water  ;  in  a  word,  a  very  refreshing  and  excellent 
drink.  Let  me  make  Ma  chere  mere  some  of  that." 
.  "  Do  it,  Eransiska.  Thou  art  not  without  resources. 
Something  always  occurs  to  thee ;  and  that  is  a  fortunate  na- 
ture.   Better  to  be  without  bread  than  without  resources." 

I  hastened  immediately  to  Bear,  and  imparted  to  him  my 
proposition.  He  was  quite  delighted  with  my  inventiveness, 
and  began  immediately  to  brew  his  composing  draught  and 
my  toast  and  water ;  since  both  of  them  were  one  and  the 
same  thing. 

Bruno  in  the  mean  time  is  in  a  restless  and  gloomy  mood, 
and  is  not  free  from  the  delirium  of  fever.  He  loves  his 
mother  really  extremely,  and  cannot  reconcile  himself  to  the 
idea  of  her  dying.  Bear  endeavours  to  pacify  him  with  kind 
words  and  hopes.  Hagar  is  much  about  him,  but  this  seems 
to  irritate  him.  He  treats  her  harshly,  but  she  bears  all  with 
dlavish  servility.    How  deep  must  a  woman  have  sunk  before 


272 


THE  FEIGHBOTTEB. 


she  can  suffer  herself  to  be  so  treated,  and  like  a  hound  creep 
fawning  to  the  foot  which  kicks  it  away !  How  unlike  to  this 
spirit  of  a  slave  is  the  free  but  unassuming  mind  with  which 
an  honoured  and  beloved  wife  devotes  herself  to  the  object  of 
her  pure  devotion.    Poor  Hagar ! 

Ma  chere  mere  cannot  bear  Hagar,  and  she  shrinks  from 
her  sharp  and  penetrating  eye.  "  She  is  certainly  his  Dulci- 
nea,"  said  Ma  chere  mere  yesterday  to  me.  "  I  shall  speak 
to  Bruno  upon  it.    I  cannot  bear  such  things !" 

The  composing  draught  is  now  ready,  and  I  will  fetch  it. 
God  help  me  !  It  seems  to  me  as  if  I  was  playing  a  deceitful 
part  tow^ards  Ma  chere  mere,  and  that  is  very  uncomfortable 
to  me. 

Later. 

It  is  done !  It  succeeded,  but  it  was  within  a  hair  of  all 
being  lost.  As  I  received  the  cup  with  the  draught  out  of 
Bear's  hand,  I  said,  "  Bear,  thou  art,  however,  quite  sure  that 
this  will  not  sleep  her  to  death?" 

"  Dost  thou  think  I  am  a  quack,  Fanny  ?" 

"  God  forbid  !  thou  art  ^sculapius  himself;  but — but — oh ! 
Bear,  it  goes  hard  with  me  to  deceive  her." 

"  Hadst  thou  rather  that  she  lose  her  reason,  or  that  she 
have  a  stroke  ?  My  little  Eanny,  it  won't  do  to  hesitate.  Do 
it  quickly,  and  then  it  is  done  the  easiest.  With  the  help  of 
God  this  draught  will  save  her." 

I  went  to  Ma  chere  mere,  and  gave  her  the  cup,  while  I 
said  as  confidently  as  possible,  "  Here,  Ma  chere  mere,  is  my 
cordial." 

"  Ah !  that  is  famous !"  said  she,  raised  herself,  tasted  the 
draught,  started,  and  made  a  wry  face.  "  What  is  this  for  a 
cursed  gallimathias  that  thou  has  stirred  together,  Fransiska?" 
she  exclaimed  ;  "  it  tastes  actually  poisonous."  She  fixed  at 
the  same  time  one  of  her  keenest  looks  on  me.  Had  I  had  a 
poison-cup  in  my  innocent  hand,  I  could  not  have  trembled 
more,  or  looked  more  criminal. 

"  Thou  unlucky  Bear,"  thought  I,  nearly  ready  to  cry, 
"  now  must  I  empty  the  cup  myself  to  testify  my  innocence, 
even  if  I  should  sleep  till  the  day  of  judgment  for  it." 

"  God  have  mercy  on  thee,"  continued  Ma  chere  mere, 
with  the  same  look,  "if  thou  art  jq  conspiracy  with  thy  hus- 
i>and  to  deceive  me 


FRANSISKA  TTERKEE  TO  MARIA  M. 


273 


"  And  if  it  were  so,"  said  I,  as  I  threw  mj  free  arm  round 
her  neck,  and  kissed  her,  and  wet  her  cheek  with  tears,  called 
forth  half  by  tenderness  half  by  fear,  "  if  it  were  indeed  so, 
would  not  you,  mother,  be  so  good  to  your  children  as  to 
take  the  draught  for  their  sakes ;  and  believe  them,  that 
though  it  tastes  somewhat  unpleasant,  it  w^ill  only  do  you 
good?" 

Ma  chere  mere  looked  at  me  for  a  moment  seriously  but 
friendlily,  and  then  said,  "  Thou  art  an  artful  woman,  Fran- 
siska,  and  a  good  child,  and  knowest  how  to  manage  the  old 
one ;  and  for  this  quality  she  loves  thee,  and  will  now  do  as 
thou  wishest,  come  of  it  what  will.  Skal,  my  child!"  And 
with  one  draught  she  emptied  the  cup. 

I  embraced  her,  thanked  her,  and  wept  in  my  joy.  She 
patted  me  kindly  on  the  cheek,  and  seemed  to  experience 
pleasure  in  seeing  herself  beloved.  I  ran  in  triumph  to  Bear, 
and  showed  him  the  empty  cup. 

"  Ay,  ay,"  said  he,  "  I  thought  it  would  pass,  and  the 
draught  not  taste  so  bad  neither ;  by  my  troth,  it  was  not 
easy  to  prepare  it." 

"Thou  conceited  Bear!"  I  interrupted  him;  "cease  to 
boast  of  thy  abominable  draught."  And  I  now  related  to 
him  that  which  had  passed  ;  and  I  must  do  him  the  justice 
to  say  that  he  changed  the  praises  t^f  his  drink  into  glorifica- 
tions of  myself.  I  cherish  a  quiet  hope  that  the  draught 
already  operates.  Ma  chere  mere  does  not  indeed  sleep,  but 
she  is  stiU.    It  is  nine  o'clock.    I  shall  to-night  watch  by  her. 

llth. 

Now  she  sleeps.  Grod  be  praised,  she  sleeps  sound  and 
well !  It  is  a  pleasure  to  see  her  sleeping.  Bear  has  driven 
every  one  in  the  house  to  bed.  No  one  dare  stir  ;  it  is  still 
as  a  grave.  Hu !  how  came  that  word  into  my  pen  ?  I 
erase  it.  I  watch  in  Ma  chere  mere's  chamber  with  Elsa, 
whose  indefatigable  zeal  I  can  but  admire.  Bear  sits  within 
with  Bruno,  in  order  to  keep  him  as  quiet  as  possible  while 
they  await  the  result  of  the  sleep.  He  has  the  best  hopes. 
That  we  may  maintain  the  greatest  possible  silence,  Bear  and 
I  have  agreed  to  telegraph  the  slightest  change  in  Ma  chere 
mere  by  small  strips  of  paper,  which  I  write  upon,  and  stick 
in  the  keyhole  ;  and  in  the  mean  time,  to  keep  myself  awake, 

s 


274 


THE  raiGHBOURS. 


I  employ  myself  in  drawing  Elsa's  profile,  which  in  the  ether* 
like  background  of  the  lamp-light  stands  dark,  sharp  as  if  cut 
in  stone,  and  inimovably  turned  towards  and  gazing  on  the 
sleeper. 

Two  o'clock. 

Ma  chere  mere  still  sleeps ;  sleeps  deep,  and  perspires 
profusely.  I  have  telegraphed  this  to  Bear.  "  Grood  sign," 
he  has  telegraphed  back.  God  be  praised !  now  I  hope  all 
is  well. 

Elsa's  portrait  is  like.  The  original  sits  yet  on  the  same 
epot,  and  looks  immovably  in  the  same  direction. 

Four  o'clock. 

Elsa  has  just  come  to  me,  and  whispered  in  my  ear  with  a 
scarce  perceptible  voice,  "  Do  you  think  her  life  will  be  saved  ? 
Do  you  think  she  will  wake  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  I  believe  it  with  certainty." 

"If  she  die,  I  will  die  too." 

"Why  so,  dear  Elsa?" 

"  What  should  I  do  here  on  the  earth  without  her  ?  And 
then — she  must  have  some  one  in  heaven  to  wait  on  her,  and 
be  at  hand  day  and  night." 

"  She  will  then  be  with  God's  angels,  Elsa." 

"  Yes,  dear  madame  ;  but  they  cannot  fall  so  exactly  into 
her  humours  as  I  can.  They  have  not  lived  with  her  forty 
years  as  I  have." 

Elsa  returned  to  her  post,  and  took  her  former  position.  I 
saw  again  the  dark  profile  on  the  clear  background.  Elsa's 
faithful,  mountain-fast  devotion  touched  me  deeply,  and  re- 
minded me  of  Goethe's  words — "  It  is  not  our  merit  only, 
but  their  truth  which  often  secures  to  us  the  hearts  of  others." 

Six  o'clock. 

Ma  chere  mere  still  sleeps  ;  sleeps  sound,  and  by  the  in- 
streaming  daylight  her  countenance  looks  awfully  pale.  Think 
only  if  she  should  sleep  her  last  sleep  !  Bear  and  I  have  had 
a  brisk  correspondence  on  this  long  sleep  through  the  key- 
hole. Will  you  have  a  specimen  of  it  ?  for  with  the  whole 
of  it  I  will  not  burden  the  post. 

Strip  1.  "  She  sleeps,  sleeps,  sleeps.  I  begin  to  fear  that  she  will  awake  no  more  ' 

2.  "  She  will  wake." 

3.  "  Oracles  have  heretofore  deceived  themselves,** 


fEANSISKA  WEENEB  TO  MABIA  M.  27.^ 

4  "  Bnt  not  now." 

C  "  Wiseman  Bear,  and  Prophet,  tell, 

Know'st  thou  all  things  and  so  well—' 

Who  is  that,  in  deepest  night, 

W^ho  calls  thee  glory,  crown,  and  light  ? 

6.  "  No  one  else,  as  I  opine. 

But  this  little  wife  of  mine." 

7.  "  Wiseman  Bear,  and  Prophet,  tell, 

Know'st  thou  all  things  and  so  well — 

Who  is  that,  in  deepest  night, 

At  thy  conceit  who" laughs  outright?" 

8.  "  No  other  than  my  wife  alone, 

To  me  her  riddles  are  well  known ; 

For  conceit,  read  penetration, 

And  tagging  rhymes,  note — botheration. 

But  enougli  of  this  child's  play. 

Nine  o'clock. 

Away  with  coffin,  confections,  and  funeral !  Ma  chere 
mere  lives,  and  shall  live !  She  has  awoke,  is  quiet,  quite 
sensible,  and  feels  quite  well,  though  extremely  faint.  Bear 
guarantees  her  life.  We  have  embraced  right  and  left  in  our 
joy.  And  Bruno !  I  must  weep  as  I  saw  him  clasping 
JBear's  knees.  I  will  love  Bruno,  for  he  can  love.  Ma  chere 
mere  herself  seems  somewhat  astonished,  but  quiet  and  satis- 
fied. I  gave  her  just  now  her  tea.  As  she  took  the  cup  out 
of  my  hand,  she  looked  at  me  with  a  kind  and  roguish  coun- 
tenance, and  gave  me  a  little  blow  on  the  cheek.  She  is 
again  gone  to  sleep,  and  I  will  now  also  allow  myself  a  little 
rest. 

Eleven  o'clock. 

AU  goes  on  well,  extremely  well ;  we  shall  all  be  quickly 
quite  right,  except  that  I  shall  contract  a  home-sickness  for 
my  little  Eosenvik.  Ma  chere  mere  recovers  her  strength 
rapidly,  and  can  already  stand  again ;  but  she  will  not  go 
hence  till  Bruno  is  well  enough  to  accompany  her  to  Carls- 
fors,  and  earlier  I  am  not  to  be  allowed  to  return  home.  ' 
"  Patience !"  says  Bear.  A  detestable  word.  It  is  exactly 
when  I  hear  it  that  I  become  impatient.  In  the  mean  time 
I  send  off  this  letter,  embrace  thee,  and  thank  God  for  that 
which  is. 


02 


276 


THE  KEIGHB0UB8. 


CHAPTEE  XV. 

Ramm,  September  16th. 

Has  it  never  happened  to  you,  Maria,  that  you  have  re* 
garded  a  certain  person,  exactly  as  Eobinson  Crusoe  regarded 
his  island,  as  a  sterile  ground,  and  suddenly  a  chance,  a  little 
voyage  of  discovery,  has  made  you,  like  the  said  Eobinson, 
aware  of  a  lovely  region,  rich  in  the  most  excellent  and  deli- 
cious productions  ?  Voyages  of  discovery  in  the  world  which 
we  call  "  Man,''  turn  out,  very  likely,  as  into  other  regions, 
often  ill  enough ;  and  the  explorer,  not  seldom,  remains 
sticking,  like  Captain  Eoss,  in  the  ice ;  but  me  have  they 
most  frequently  conducted  into  a  pleasant  country.  So  to- 
day. Will  you  follow  me  in  a  voyage  of  such  discovery  ? 
My  island  is  called  Lagman  Hok. 

Behold  him  planted  on  a  stool,  like  a  fir-tree  on  its  rock^ 
in  Ma  chere  mere's  room  at  Eamm.  See  there  also,  sunk  in 
a  deep-stuffed  chair,  like  a  bird  in  its  nest,  the  lively  Miss 
Hellevi  Husgafvel.  See,  stately,  and  only  like  herself,  Ma 
chere  mere,  leaning  back  in  one  corner  of  her  sofa ;  see 
Bruno,  like  a  beautiful  night,  darkening  and  adorning  the 
other  sofa  corner.  See,  further,  two  e very-day  figures  sitting 
faithfully  together  like  a  pair  of  turtle-doves,  or  a  bear  and 
his  bearess.  See  comfort  in  the  room,  and  satisfaction  on  the 
faces  of  the  people,  and  hear  what  in  the  twilight  of  the 
evening  rolls  lightly  from  the  heart,  over  the  tongue,  and 
now  reaches  thy  ear. 

Miss  Husgafvel.  Tinkle  Hok !  you  look  this  evening  so 
thoroughly  finished  and  perfect,  that  I  feel  myself  quite  op- 
pressed by  it.  It  would  really  do  me  good,  if  you  would  but 
in  this  twilight  make  confession  of  some  little  weakness. 
For  instance,  I  am  persuaded  that  you  have  in  some  little 
thing  a  slight  touch  of  covetousness.  Every  man  has  such  a 
one,  I  am  convinced,  if  he  will  but  honestly  hunt  it  out. 

Ma  chere  mere,  "  Sweep  first  before  your  own  door,  before 
you  sweep  before  your  neighbour's,"  says  the  proverb.  Begin 
with  yourself,  cousin  Husgafvel,  and  confess  your  sins. 

Miss  Husgafvel.  I,  poor  sinful  mortal,  confess,  from  the 
bottom  of  my  heart,  that  I  have  a  hankering  after  Dins  and 
waste  paper,  which  approaches  to  a  real  avarice. 


fejlN-siska  weeneb  to  mxeia  m. 


277 


Lagman  Hdh  (gravely).  And  I  know  nothing  on  earth 
which  is  so  dear  to  me  as  bottles,  be  thej  full  or  empty ;  and 
it  is  with  the  greatest  difficulty  that  I  prevent  myself  boxing 
the  ears  of  a  servant  when  he  breaks  one. 

Miss  Husgafvel.  Ha !  glorious !  glorious !  my  dear,  excel- 
lent uncle.  Hear,  you  good  people  there,  do  neither  better 
nor  worse  than  us.  Confess  obligingly  your  sins.  Tour 
avarice,  good  Doctor  ? 

Bear  (laconic).  Paper! 

Miss  Husgafvel.    Good,  therefore  the  fewer  prescriptions. 
But  we  cannot  live  without  them.    Madame  Werner,  yours  ? 
FransisJca.    Needles  and  thread. 

Miss  HiisgafveL  You,  Madame  Ifansfelt,  won't  you 
throw  your  contribution  into  our  little  collection  ? 

Ma  cKere  mere.  Why  not  ?  But  I  am  afraid  it  w<!fuld  be 
quite  too  much  if  I  threw  all  my  covetousness  into  the 
scale.  So  content  yourselves  with  what  I  do  not  otherwise 
willingly  give  away — with  ends  of  ribbon  and  old  linen.  But 
remember,  my  friends,  "  He  who  does  not  waste  a  penny, 
gets  two  "  He  who  wastes  more  than  he  wins,  soon  has  an 
empty  larder."    "  He  who  gathers,  has." 

There  was  a  short  pause.  The  turn  came  to  Bruno,  to 
confess  his  innocent  failings  ;  but  whether  he  had  none  such, 
and  that  sounds  abominable,  or  whether  he  had  paid  no 
attention  to  our  gossip,  he  showed  no  disposition  to  shrive 
himself,  and  none  of  us  felt  a  desire  to  require  it  of  him. 
He  sat  with  downcast  eyes,  sunk  into  himself,  and  supported 
his  bound-up  head  on  his  hand.  Lagman  Hok  broke  the 
embarrassing  silence,  and  replied  to  Ma  chere  mere's  words 
— "  Madame  Mansfelt  is  quite  right,  we  must  every  one,  in 
his  own  way,  be  a  gatherer." 

Miss  Husgafvel.  Take  care,  uncle,  that  you  do  not  make 
out  that  our  sins  are  virtues.  You  know,  it  is  written,  that 
we  must  lay  up  our  treasures  there  where  no  thief  breaks  in 
and  steals. 

Lagman  Hoh.  Much  there,  but  a  little  also  here.  It  is 
reasonable  enough,  if  one  looks  rightly  at  the  thing. 

Ma  chere  mere.    I  am  just  of  that  opinion. 

Fransiska.  What  is  the  whole  human  race  but  a  great 
procession  of  seekers  and  gatherers  ?  But,  alas  !  how  manj 
there  are  who  find  nothing,  or  preserve  nothing ! 


278 


THE  NEIGHBOURS. 


Lagman  Hole,  And  that,  especially,  because  they  have  not 
sought  and  found  themselves.  At  the  bottom,  every  man 
seeks  chiefly  harmony  with  himself.  But  you  must  under- 
stand what  I  mean  ? 

Fransislca.  Grive  us  an  example,  Lagman  Hok — a  living 
one,  if  possible ;  then  we  may  come  to  a  clear  perception, 
without  much  beating  about. 

Miss  Husgafvel.  You,  for  instance,  worthy  uncle,  have  to 
a  certainty  found  yourself ;  for  never  did  I  see  a  person  so 
quiet,  so  secure,  and  I  may  also  say,  so  wise  and  good.  TeD 
us  how  you  sought,  and  how  you  found  yourself. 

Fransiska.    O  yes  !  tell  us  that,  good  Lagman. 

Lagman  Hok.  Do  you  know  what  you  ask  of  me,  ladies  ? 
Nothing  less  than  the  grand  event  of  the  history  of  my  life. 

Miss  Husgafvel  and  Fransiska.  0  yes,  yes  !  tell  us  the 
history  of  your  life. 

Lagman  Hok.  It  is  impossible  to  refuse  the  request  of 
two  such  amiable  ladies  ;  therefore  I  will  begin  at  once  with 
the  most  difficult  confession ;  for  you  probably  are  not  aware 
that  he  who  now  addresses  you  is — an  unsuccessful  author. 
It  is  well  that  it  is  now  so  dark.  Well,  after  the  first  hard 
step  is  made,  the  rest  will  be  easier. 

"  My  father  was  a  meritorious  writer,  and  educated  me  to 
tread  in  the  same  path.  My  endowments  seemed  to  foster 
his  wishes.  I  early  wrote  poems,  dramatic  pieces  for  name- 
days  and  birthdays ;  and  received  sweetmeats  and  praise, 
and  already  saw  afar  off  the  laurel  crown.  I  was  brought  up 
surrounded  by  the  works  of  poets.  I  read  them  through 
and  through,  till  I  knew  them  by  rote,  and  took  their  thoughts 
for  my  own.  My  parents  were  ambitious,  and  my  domineer- 
ing desire  of  distinction  was  by  them  yet  more  stimulated. 
Some  of  my  poetical  attempts  met  with  approbation  from  the 
public,  and  praise  in  the  newspapers ;  and  through  this,  in- 
toxicated, as  well  as  by  the  encouragement  of  my  parents 
and  the  encomiums  of  my  young  friends,  amongst  whom  was 
most  prominent  one  young  and  sanguine  man,  named  Larka, 
I  resolved,  like  Byron,  with  one  spring  to  plant  myself  on  the 
summit  of  the  Parnassus  of  the  present  age.    I  wrote  a 

Tragedy  in  five  acts,  and  ^wait  a  moment.    I  must  linger 

a  little  over  this  hour  of  apparent  happiness.  Really  great 
poets  possess,  as  I  believe,  a  certain  reflective  repose,  even  in 


PEANSISKA  WEENER  TO  MAEIA  M. 


270 


the  moment  of  inspiration.  They  are  given  up  to  their 
^^ubject,  and  embody  themselves  with  it  in  a  sacred  earnest- 
ness. TThen  they  contemplate  that  which  they  have  pro- 
duced, they  are  rather  disposed  to  feel  dissatisfied  than  satis- 
fied with  their  creations.  This  proceeds  from  their  deep 
comprehension  of  the  greatness  of  life.  It  is  exactly  be- 
cause they  feel  it  thus,  that  they  are  great.  Little  spirits, 
writers  who  are  enraptured  with  themselves  and  their  works, 
should  tremble,  and  call  to  mind  the  words  of  Boileau, 

Le  sot  a  chaque  vers  soi-meme  s'admire. 

"  I  feared  nothing  as  I  wrote  my  tragedy.  I  was  trans- 
ported, and  held  my  enthusiasm  for  that  of  the  public.  I 
marched  with  great  strides  to  and  fro  in  my  chamber,  declaim- 
ing my  verses.  At  effective  passages,  that  is,  such  as  ap- 
peared effective  to  me,  I  stood  still,  and  listened  to  the  accla- 
mations of  the  public.  They  elated  me.  I  leaped  for  joy,  and 
came  down  again,  but  not  to  my  senses.  The  partiality  of 
my  parents  and  friends  favoured  my  intoxication.  '  Thou, 
wilt  rise  high,'  said  Larka.  I  believed  it ;  and  between 
myself  and  immortal  honour  saw  only  a  representation. 

"  It  took  place.  My  hopes  were  wound  up  to  the  highest 
pitch  ;  my  tragedy — feU.  There  was  not  a  single  clap  of 
approbation.  Silence  ;  some  hissing ;  even  laughter.  Some 
days  after  came  the  critics,  in  the  public  papers,  who  left  not 
a  solitary  hair  on  the  head  of  my  Christiern  11. ,  and  sought 
to  rob  me  of  every  hope  ;  ay,  of  ever  being  able  to  win  the 
veriest  little  shrivelled  leaf  of  laurel.  I  knew  well  that  they 
had  done  the  same  to  many  a  one  before,  who  nevertheless 
had  become  a  great  and  renowned  writer  ;  and  I  resolved  not 
to  suffer  myself  by  such  means  to  be  frightened  from  my  aim. 
But  in  vain  did  I  endeavour  to  console  myself  with  these 
thoughts,  of  the  stupidity  of  the  critics,  and  the  experience 
of  great  writers  ;  my  annihilating  critic  was  the  whole  public, 
and  what  was  still  worse — mysefe  That  is  the  last  tribunal, 
from  which  there  is  no  appeal.  Yet  in  the  first  moments 
after  the  fall  of  my  Christiern,  I  was  far  removed  from  this. 
Humbled, — but  more  exasperated  than  humbled, — I  deter- 
mined to  do  battle  with  the  critics,  yes,  even  with  the  public 
itself ;  with  the  first  in  a  bitter  reply,  mth  the  second  by  yet 
another  tragedy.    But  thor  s^epperJ  forward  my  never-to* 


280 


THE  NEIGHBOTIES. 


be-sufficiently-lionoured  friend,  the  lady  of  General  Mansfelt, 
here  present ;  and  with  her  powerful  and  sound  understand* 
ing,  which  ahready  distinguished  her  in  her  younger  years, 
held  me  back. 

"  '  My  friend,'  said  she,  '  better  fly  than  fight  iU.  It  is 
too  late  to  cry  halves  !  when  the  sausage  is  eaten  up.  It  is 
unnecessary  to  carry  wood  into  the  forest ;  why  cast  butter 
into  the  fire  which  burns  you  ?  Let  the  people  cry ;  and 
see  weU  to  it  that  they  are  not  in  the  right.  I  do  not  pro- 
fess to  be  a  judge  of  your  piece,  and  of  such  things,  but  I 
tell  you  that  it  does  not  much  please  me.  It  appears  to  me 
forced  and  laboured.  But  suppose  I  am  wrong,  and  the 
people  are  wrong  ;  good ; — ^then  will  your  piece  probably  one 
day  receive  justice.  That,  I  believe,  has  happened  before 
now,  both  with  books  and  men.  But  if  you  find,  after  suffi- 
cient proof,  that  the  people  are  right,  then  give  up  your 
piece ;  it  will  do  no  good  to  fight  for  it ;  and  if  you  have 
written  a  bad  piece,  weU,  you  may  yet  write  a  better.  And 
if  you  cannot  do  that,  then  you  are  not  fit  for  an  author, 
and — what  then  ?  Are  you  on  that  account  a  worse  man  ? 
Do  not  many  other  ways  stand  open  to  become  an  able  and 
happy  member  of  society  ?  Dear  Hok,  only  take  care  that 
you  open  your  eyes  at  the  right  time.  It  is  so  well  to  make 
the  first  injury  the  last,  and  to  receive  the  bitter  teaching 
with  thankfulness.' 

"  I  took  the  words  of  my  valued  friend  to  heart,  went 
home,  and  reflected  in  deep  silence  on  my  unsuccessful 
tragedy.  There  fell  a  veil  from  my  eyes.  I  had  not  been 
prudent  enough  to  avoid  becoming  intoxicated,  but  I  was  not 
so  mad  as  not  to  become  sober  again.  I  saw  clearly  that  my 
tragedy  only  resembled  those  of  Schiller,  in  the  same  degree 
that  apes  resemble  men  ;  and  I  threw  it  into  the  fire.  Tor 
the  rest,  it  was  not  easy  for  me  to  take  my  resolution  in  this 
matter.  I  had  prepared  myself  for  the  field  of  literature,  yet 
I  discovered,  more  and  more,  my  want  of  creative  power — of 
the  poetic  faculty.  I  had  no  inclination  to  another  employ- 
ment ;  I  knew  not  what  to  undertake, — what  I  should  become. 
I  had  lost  the  rudder,  and  my  bark  was  the  sport  of  wind  and 
wave.  To  this  was  added  the  disappointment  and  distress  oi 
my  parents  ;  the  long  faces  of  my  friends  ;  and  their  *  PooH 
Hok !'    Even  Larka  sighed  '  Poor  Hok  !'    This  was  not  to 


FEANSISKA  WEENEB  TO  MARIA  M. 


281 


be  endured.  Tlien  came  again  my  excellent  young  friend, 
and  procured  me  from  my  parents  permission  to  travel  in 
foreign  countries  ;  to  drive,  as  she  said,  the  affair  out  of  my 
heart. 

"  I  travelled — often  on  foot,  for  my  means  were  small — 
through  a  great  part  of  Europe  ;  travelled  two  years  ;  saw  life 
in  manifold  forms  ;  thought,  and  compared.  My  misfortune 
in  the  world  of  fancy  had  strengthened  my  understanding, 
and  the  suffering  which  I  had  experienced  inspired  me  with 
an  urgent  desire  to  comprehend  that  which  everywhere,  and 
in  all  circumstances  of  life,  with  a  certain  degree  of  cultiva- 
tion, gives  to  existence  peace  and  independence.  Amongst 
many  observations  which  I  made,  I  will  only  allude  to  one, 
trivial  as  it  may  appear,  because  it  became  of  the  highest  im- 
portance to  me  in  life.  The  world  is  rich  in  the  excellent 
and  the  beautiful.  Truly  to  comprehend,  to  value,  and  to 
admire  the  beautiful,  is  a  great  medium  of  ennoblement,  ol 
peace,  of  happiness.  Should  the  proud  passion  to  create, 
which  reigns  in  so  many  young  and  active  souls,  change 
itself  into  a  desire  for  discernment,  into  a  capacity  to  admire 
the  beautiful  and  the  excellent, — then  would  their  restless- 
ness be  converted  into  repose,  the  world  would  contain  a  less 
amount  of  presumptuous  and  dissatisfied  men,  and  feeble  pro- 
ductions of  art ;  and  the  really  great  talents  would  find  more 
admirers,  and  would  rise  higher.  Artists  and  connoisseurs 
are  necessary  to  each  other,  and  mutually  elevate  each  other. 
The  best  and  happiest  men  I  found  amongst  those  who  united 
with  a  useful  regulated  activity  in  the  middle  ranks  of  life  a 
sublime  feeling  for  the  beautiful,  and  a  capacity  to  enjoy  the 
noblest  creations  of  art. 

"  After  my  two  years  of  travel  and  observation,  I  returned, 
sound  in  soul  and  body,  and  began  a  new  career  of  life.  Yet  I 
renounced  not  literature ;  on  the  contrary,  the  more  my  situa- 
tion in  life  became  determined,  with  a  more  intimate  love 
did  I  attach  myself  to  this  life-giving  fountain.  But  I  had 
learned  to  know  myself.  I  strove  no  longer  for  the  artist's 
renown,  for  the  crown  of  laurel  and  of  thorns  ;  but  I  sought 
to  perfect  in  me  the  enlightened  lover  and  judge  of  art.  I 
desired  that,  even  if  I  myself  could  not  produce  the  beautiful^ 
no  one  should  exceed  me  in  the  skill  thoroughly  to  estimate 
and  to  enjoy  it.    And  I  can  say,  that  in  this  I  have  not  been 


282 


THE  NEIGHBOITRS. 


altogether  disappointed.  Since  I  have  renounced  a  vain 
endeavour,  and  learned  to  know  my  one  talent,  I  have 
become  peaceful  and  happy.  I  am  now  old,  and  every  year 
removes  me  farther  from  the  world;  but  not  from  the 
eternal  beauty  which  thus  inexhaustibly  renews  itself  in  ever- 
varying  forms.  I  hang  with  firm  love  thereon;  it  endows  my 
heart  with  new  youth ;  it  prevents  my  thoughts  growing  grey 
with  my  hair ;  and  inspires  me  with  a  hope,  that  hereafter  in 
the  true  native  land  of  beauty,  I  shall  become  one  of  its  not 
unworthy  worshippers." 

So  spoke  the  old  man,  and  from  his  mild  blue  eyes  glanced 
a  lively  satisfaction.  We  thanked  him  heartily,  and  I  ex- 
claimed— somewhat  thoughtlessly — "  Oh  !  I  wish  that  all 
men,  as  well  those  who  have  found  as  those  who  have  not 
found,  before  they  depart  from  this  theatre  of  action,  would 
make  their  confessions.  I  am  certain  that  no  book  would  be 
pleasanter  or  more  beneficial  than  a  collection  of  such  auto- 
biographies. They  would  become  good  guidance  for  the  in- 
quirers in  life.  Best  Miss  Husgafvel !  will  you  not  at  once 
throw  in  your  contribution  ?  I  will  undertake  to  sketch  it 
out.  You  certainly  are  one  of  those  who  have  sought  and 
have  already  found." 

"  I  cannot  say  wholly  no  to  that,"  answered  Miss  Hellevi ; 
"although  much  yet  remains  to  be  done  before  I  have 
obtained  full  satisfaction  with  myself.  Yet  I  have  already 
found  far  more  in  the  world  than  I  dreamed  of  in  my  youth  ; 
and  if  you,  worthy  friend,  will  hear  a  tedious  history,  I  will 
willingly  relate  it  to  you. 

"  I  have  passed  through  no  great  misfortunes ;  have  to 
complain  of  no  great  disappointments.  I  have  gone  quietly 
enough  through  my  world ;  but  I  have  suffered  ennui,  merci- 
less ennui,  and  therefore  can  truly  say  that  I  have  borne  the 
heaviest  burden  in  the  world.  My  father — ^be  good  enough, 
my  friends,  to  pay  particular  attention  to  this  remark — my 
father  was  a  man  of  honour,  upright  and  true.  All  the  Hus- 
gafvels  in  a  direct  descending  line  ha^e  been  of  this  character ; 
loving  the  right  even  to  inflexibility ;  straightforward  in 
bodily  bearing  and  in  principles ;  swerving  neither  to  the 
right  hand  nor  to  the  left ;  and  I  know  not  how  it  has  hap 
pened  that  I  have  become  so  unworthy  a  descendant  from  my 
honour-meriting  ancestors.    My  father,  £«s  observed,  had  ai 


FRAXSISKA  WEBNEE  TO  MAEIA  M. 


283 


admirable  moral  character,  and  therefore  is  he  now  happy  iri 
heaven ;  but  he  had  extremely  strict  and  old-fashioned  no- 
tions regarding  the  education  of  women.  lie  believed,  for 
instance,  that  it  was  good  for  young  maidens  to  suffer  tedium, 
or  as  it  was  called,  to  be  bridled.  He  was  a  sworn  foe  of  all 
those  things  which  he  called  vanity;  in  the  catalogue  of 
which  stood  many  an  innocent  pleasure.  He  abhorred  also 
pedantic  learnedness  in  women;  but  in  this  rubric  was  a 
multitude  of  useful  and  happiness-conferring  varieties  of 
knowledge  laid  under  the  ban.  Above  all  things  he  prized 
household  virtues  ;  but  those  again  were  confined  to  a  narrow 
circle.  We  must  weave,  spin,  sew,  attend  to  the  kitchen  and 
domestic  affairs ;  study  Kajsa  Warg,'^ — and  any  other  book 
he  saw  with  great  displeasure  in  our  hands  ;  and  by  such 
means  prepare  ourselves  to  become  able  wives  and  mistresses 
of  families.  He  himself  maintained  a  strict  oversight  over 
me  and  my  five  sisters.  My  sisters  wove,  I  spun  ;  each  one 
in  turn  had  to  attend  the  kitchen  for  a  week.  Well,  the  day 
went  over  ;  agreeable  it  was  not.  I  especially  found  it  often 
insupportably  long,  particularly  as  I  advanced  in  years.  My 
spinning  appeared  to  me  whoUy  useless,  as  I  knew  that  we 
possessed  property. 

"Years  flew  by.  With  the  exception  of  some  old  rela- 
tions, strangers  were  never  seen  in  our  house.  The  sisters 
w^ove,  and  I  spun — I  confess  it,  with  ever- wearier  hand.,  The 
emptiness  of  my  soul  and  of  my  life  oppressed  me ;  I  had 
often  vapours  and  tears,  I  knew  not  rightly  why.  The  good 
aunt  Anna  Stina,  who  supplied  the  place  of  mother  to  us, 
was  a  genuine  Husgafvel,  and  obeyed  in  all  things  the  will  of 
her  brother  ;  but,  for  the  rest,  was  very  kind  to  us.  She  had 
constantly  on  her  tongue,  'Advice  to  my  Daughter,'t  and 
often  preached  to  us  in  the  words — 

Our  household — that  is  our  republic ; 
Our  politics,  the  toilet — 

together  with  this. 

And  our  belles-lettres,  I  aver, 

Lie  in  our  bracelets,  gloves,  and  rings. 

We  lived  on  a  remote  estate  in  the  country.    Life  in  the 

*  Kajsa  Warg,  authoress  of  a  cookery-book  much  used  m  Sweden, 
t  *'  Advice  to  mj  Daughter,"  a  poem  of  the  celebrated  Swedish  poetess,  Ann*- 
Lengrea. 


284 


THE  NEIGHBOURS. 


country  maj  be  one  of  the  richest  on  earth  ;  but  it  may  also 
be  one  of  the  poorest.  If  the  great  Book  of  Nature  be 
opened  to  the  eye  of  him  who  resides  there,  and  illumined 
with  the  light  of  heaven,  from  his  little  knoll  he  can  see  and 
enjoy  all  the  glory  of  the  world  ;  but  if  he  see  in  JSTature  only 
the  potato-field  which  gives  him  food,  then  is  this  golden  vein 
closed  for  him,  and  he  himself  stands  like  the  potato-plant, 
fast  rooted  in  the  earth.  Our  family  was  much  in  this  con- 
dition. I  must,  however,  except  myself.  The  order  of 
nature  early  attracted  my  admiration,  its  particular  objects 
awoke  my  desire  of  possession.  I  was  early,  though  in  the 
strictest  secrecy,  a  collector  of  plants,  stones,  and  shells. 
We  must  often  accompany  my  father  on  the  long  rounds 
which  he  took,  in  order  to  see  how  his  corn  prospered.  It 
must  have  been  very  edifying  to  see  how  we  went  along  in  a 
row  like  a  flock  of  snipes,  sometimes  in  the  heat  of  the  sun, 
sometimes  in  the  wet.  I,  in  the  mean  time,  was  very  often 
left  behind,  lost  in  the  observation  of  some  plant,  or  of  some 
small  insect.  On  account  of  this,  as  well  as  of  my  reveries,  I 
was  afterwards  often  rallied,  in  a  manner  which,  though  it  was 
very  gentle,  yet  wounded  my  sensitive  feeling  of  honour  deeply. 
My  father  often  amused  himself  with  throwing  off"  little  family 
pictures,  such  as  our  house  was  to  present  in  the  future. 
Tor  instance,  he  would  say,  'Anna  Maria  winds,  Lotta 
weaves,  Lizzy  goes  and  gives  out  sugar  and  spice  for  dinner, 
Josepha  spins,  G-rete  Marie  feeds  the  fowls,'  and  at  the  end 
of  the  family-picture  always  came,  *  and  Hellevi  sits  and  gazes 
at  the  sun,'  or  some  such  unprofitable  proceeding,  which  con- 
clusion always  took  such  effect  on  me  that  I  burst  into  tears. 
To  be  the  only  useless  member  of  the  family !  no,  that  was 
far  too  insupportable,  far  too  humbling.  When  now  came 
my  week  of  housekeeping,  I  jingled  my  keys  actively,  to  let 
my  father  hear  how  zealously  I  discharged  the  duties  of  my 
office.  Ah !  it  was  all  to  no  purpose !  In  the  next  family 
sketch  it  was  still  the  same ;  '  and  Hellevi  sits  and  gazes  at 
the  sun.'  In  my  family  it  was  the  fixed  and  perpetual  adage 
— '  Hellevi  will  never  make  a  good  housekeeper — and  then 
what  is  she  fit  for  ?'  In  this  belief  died  my  father  and  my 
aunt ;  ia  this  belief  yet  live  my  sisters. 

"  I  have  stated  how  we  spent  the  days,  I  must  now  say  a 
word  on  the  evenings.    At  seven  o'clock  my  father  assembled 


FEAlfSISKA  WEENEE  TO  MAKIA  M. 


285 


U3  every  evening  in  his  room.  "We  sate  there,  employed  on 
our  sewing  and  embroidery,  and  that  round  a  great  circular 
table  with  two  candles,  about  which  there  generally  fell  out 
some  contention.  My  father  sate  at  some  distance  from  us, 
at  a  little  table,  with  an  eye-shade  before  him,  and  read  aloud 
to  us.  This  should  have  been  a  great  pleasure  to  us ;  but, 
in  the  first  place,  the  Trench  history  on  which  we  were,  I 
know  not  how  long  engaged,  was  of  a  very  old  edition  ;  and 
in  the  next,  my  father's  mode  of  reading  was  extremely  slow 
and  monotonous.  When  now  in  autumn  and  winter  evenings 
the  rain  and  snow  beat  against  the  windows,  and  the  storm 
without  howled  its  mournful  song  to  the  heavy  long-drawn- 
out  words  within,  no  one  need  wonder  that  the  spirit  of  sleep 
became  mighty  in  us,  tlia:  we  nodded  to  one  another,  as  in 
rivalry,  over  our  embroidery.  When  one  of  us  resigned  our- 
selves to  the  overpowering  influence  of  Morpheus,  then  winked 
and  blinked  aunt  Anna  Stina  waggishly  across  to  the  rest,  as 
much  as  to  say,  '  There!  the  sister's  gone!' 

"  At  nine  o'clock  all  were  aroused,  as  well  the  waking  as 
the  sleeping,  by  my  father  pushing  back  his  chair ;  and  we 
drew,  one  after  another — the  precedence  of  age  being,  in  the 
Husgafvel  family,  ever  held  sacred — into  the  dining-room  to 
supper.  This  was  moderate,  and  did  not  last  more  than  ten 
minutes.  Hence  we  returned  again  to  my  father's  room, 
where  we  must  continue  till  the  clock  struck  ten.  During 
this  time  we  were  not  to  work,  but  exclusively  to  devote  our- 
selves to  conversation.  Every  one  of  us  had  her  appointed 
place  in  the  room.  Mine  was  by  the  stove,  where  the  warmth 
made  me  some  recompense  for  the  frost  which  reigned  in  the 
discourse  ;  for  all  circumstances  which  might  have  lent  a 
living  interest  to  it,  were  strongly  interdicted ;  and  when  I, 
at  times,  dared  to  step  on  the  forbidden  ground,  I  was 
speedily  warned  off  it  again,  with  the  remark  that  women 
had  nothing  to  do  with  such  subjects.  Our  conversation 
might  touch  upon  nothing  but  the  little  occurrences  of  the 
day,  especially  those  within  the  house ;  of  acquaintance, 
genealogies,  and  matters  of  business.  This  made,  according 
to  my  taste,  a  meagre  entertainment,  and  gladly  would  I 
have  stayed  away ;  but  we  were  neither  allowed  to  do  that, 
nor  to  be  silent  during  this  conversation  hour,  but  every  one 
must  say  something.  When  any  one  of  us  had  not  opened  he? 


286 


THE  NEIGIIBOUHS. 


mouth  for  'some  time,  she  was  called  upon  in  a  friendly  voice 
to  say  something.  In  order  to  vary  a  little  our  entertain- 
ment, my  father  sometimes  took  out  an  old  box,  in  which  lay 
a  number  of  curiosities,  w^hich  had,  probably  for  the  twentieth 
time,  been  laid  out  one  after  another,  turned  about,  and  con- 
templated. It  was  taken  ill  of  any  of  the  daughters  who  did 
not  stand  round  the  table  and  pay  attention  to  tlie  contents 
of  the  box.  It  was  a  misfortune  that  my  father  never 
would  cease  to  regard  us  as  little  children :  but  the  little 
clasps  and  rings ;  the  profiles  of  grandfather  and  grand- 
mother ;  the  little  box  with  the  feathers  of  the  canary-bird 
in  it,  which  delighted  the  maiden  of  nine  years  old ;  the 
magic  lantern,  which  had  excited  her  whole  curiosity ;  could 
not  possibly  interest  the  woman  of  five-and-twenty,  now 
compelled  to  stand  by,  and  regard  the  contents  of  the  box 
with  a  weary  and  indifferent  gaze. 

"  I  observed  that  in  the  conversation  hour,  after  supper, 
we  must  always  say  something,  though  we  were  not  allowed 
to  say  what  we  would.  Hence  often  arose  the  most  ridicu- 
lous little  miseries.  One  example  may  give  a  conception  of 
these.  My  sisters  and  myself  had  one  day  seen  how  a  little 
herd  of  vagabond  sucking-pigs  had  come  swarming  into  the 
courtyard,  and  how  they  were  chased  round  by  the  three  yard- 
dogs.  This  precious  event  of  real  life  we  hoarded  up  in  our 
faithful  memories  the  whole  day  through,  in  order  to  season 
the  evening's  conversation.  By  chance  we  came  this  evening 
into  my  father's  room,  not  in  a  connected  line,  but  with 
sundry  breaks  and  pauses.  Anna  Maria,  w^ho  took  her  place 
first,  told  the  story  of  the  little  pigs  and  the  dogs ;  the  same 
did  Lotta,  who  came  after  her ;  the  same  Lizzy,  w^ho  came 
after  her ;  the  same  Josepha,  who  came  after  her  ;  the  same 
also  Grrete  Marie,  who  came  after  her.  As  I  at  length  came 
and  took  my  place  by  the  stove,  and  began  to  relate  the  story 
of  the  swine,  my  father  interrupted  me  somewhat  tartly,  and 
said,  '  Yes,  this  story  I  now  hear  for  the  sixth  time.' 

"  I  confess  that  this  made  a  strong  impression  on  me,  and 
more  than  ever  showed  me  the  narrowness  of  our  potato- 
plantation  sort  of  existence.  When  my  father  two  years 
afterwards  died,  and  my  good  aunt  found  it  quite  natural  that 
we  should  continue  to  live  in  the  same  way  without  prospect 
of  change,  then  gazed  Hellevi  actually  up  at  the  sun,  and 


PEANSISKJl  WERNER  TO  MARIA  M. 


287 


taid,  *  No,  thou  beautiful,  all-quickening  sun,  the  world  which 
thou  illumiiiest  cannot  be  so  narrow,  the  life  which  thou 
awakest  cannot  be  so  poor !  The  wells  of  life  and  of  virtue 
gush  not  up  merely  in  the  kitchen  and  the  cellar.  No,  out 
to  thee,  out  into  the  free  air,  into  the  beauty  of  the  divine 
world  !'  I  knew  already  what  I  would ;  I  knew  my  talent 
and  my  place,  and  everlasting  thanks  be  to  the  worthy  man, 
to  the  good  and  wise  guardian,  who  extended  his  hand,  and 
spite  of  the  opposition  which  my  independent  proceeding  had 
raised  in  the  Husgafvel  family,  enabled  me  to  achieve  my 
object.  I  was  seven-and-twenty  years  of  age,  gave  myself  out 
as  thirty,  took  the  Bird's  Nest  on  lease,  and  so  arranged  my 
affairs,  that  in  a  few  years  I  could  purchase  it.  How  I  have 
settled  myself  there,  you,  my  friends,  know.  For  these  ten 
years  have  I  there,  every  day,  lifted  my  eyes  to  the  sun,  even 
when  it  has  been  veiled  in  clouds,  and  praised  it,  and  the 
magnificent  world  which  it  illuminates  ;  and  for  this,  receive 
my  thanks,  my  guardian  and  excellent  uncle !" 

A  tear  pearled  itself  in  the  living  eye  of  Miss  Hellevi  as 
she  extended  her  hand  to  Lagman  Hok,  who  affectionately 
pressed  and  kissed  it. 

"  And  summa  et  facit  of  all  this,"  said  Ma  chere  mere,  "  is, 
that  there  is  nothing  so  bad  out  of  which  good  may  not  arise, 
if  we  do  but  receive  it  in  the  right  way." 

Fransiska,  Yes;  but  why  do  so  few  hit  the  right  way? 
All  would  willingly  do  it. 

Lagman  Sole,  Over  the  causes  of  this,  one  might  read  a 
long  litany.  Above  all,  men  may  ascribe  this  failure  to  them- 
selves, to  their  own  want  of  courage,  to  their  want  of  bravery 
in  the  sense  in  which  the  ancients  used  the  word.  "We  sus- 
pect not  what  power  and  elasticity  the  Creator  has  implanted 
in  human  nature.  We  have  not  the  courage  boldly  to  resign, 
not  the  courage  to  break  resolutely  forth.  We  will  not  capi- 
tulate, we  will  not  sally,  till  the  garrison  perishes  of  hunger, 
or  the  enemy  Death  comes  and  takes  the  whole  by  storm. 
"  Devilishly  well  said,"  muttered  Bear. 
Here  Bruno  raised  himself,  silent,  and  lost  in  thought. 
All  stood  up,  and  the  strangers  prepared  for  their  departure. 
Miss  Hellevi  stood  at  a  window.  I  went  to  her,  and  expressed 
my  admiration  of  Lagman  Hok.    "  That  is  really  a  most 


288 


THE  NEIGHBOURS. 


"  What  would  you  say  then,"  replied  the  lively  MidS 
Husgafvel,  "  if  you  knew  him  as  I  know  him.  If  you  knew 
his  active  labours  for  the  good  of  men ;  how  he  works  in 
silence  to  serve  clever  but  poor  artists,  and  brings  their  pro- 
ductions to  the  light.  He  is  certainly  one  of  the  noblest  and 
best  of  men." 

"  He  can  make  a  will  for  one  of  my  ten  daughters," 
thought  I.  It  was  long  since  I  had  thought  of  my  ten 
daughters,  but  after  the  conversation  of  this  evening  I 
thought  much  of  them. 

18th. 

Grod  be  praised !  I  have  a  prospect  of  getting  home. 
They  talk  of  to-morrow  and  the  next  day.  I  yearn  with  my 
whole  heart  after  my  little  Eosenvik.  This  mansion  is  large 
and  noble,  but  I  am  not  comfortable  here.  It  is  too  gloomy, 
and  a  horrible  number  of  jackdaws  clamour  everlastingly  on 
the  old  tower.  I  am  in  a  melancholy  mood,  and  I  fancy  I 
get  continually  more  and  more  like  an  old  family  portrait  which 
hangs  in  my  room.  Bruno  and  Ma  chere  mere  are  much  toge- 
ther. They  say  little,  but  appear  to  be  liappy  when  they  see 
one  another  and  sit  in  the  same  room.  Bruno  seems  to  have 
satisfied  Ma  chere  mere's  scruples  regarding  Hagar ;  and 
since  Bruno  is  better,  Hagar  is  little  to  be  seen.  Bruno 
wins  my  heart  wholly  by  his  great  tenderness  towards  his 
mother. 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

Rosenvik,  September  20th,  18 — . 
I  CAME  hither  last  evening.  I  cannot  teU  you  how  happy  I 
am  to  be  here  again ;  how  delighted  I  am  with  my  rooms,  my 
cotton  furniture  ;  with  what  pleasure  this  morning  I  greeted 
the  hole  in  the  window  curtain,  and  saw  the  day  stream  in 
through  it.  I  drink  in  the  air  of  my  home  in  long  deep 
breaths  ;  for  the  atmosphere  of  a  beloved  home  has  a  peculiar, 
a  refreshing,  and  affecting  charm.  I  have  darted  hither  and 
thither  the  whole  day  like  a  flame  of  fire,  on  the  ground-floor 
and  into  the  cellar,  into  the  barn  and  garden :  I  have  scolded 
and  praised.  With  Sissa,  and  all  that  she  has  had  under  her 
bands,  I  am  extremely  contented ;  but  the  housemaid  is  dis- 


TEAXSISKA  WEENEE  K)  MrAEIA.  M. 


28a 


orderly,  and  she  must  hear  of  it.  Audumbla  has  got  a  calf, 
a  bold  little  fellow,  which,  as  is  proper,  I  have  named  Bor. 
I  have  greeted  my  flowers,  and  stood  in  wonder  to  see  them 
so  fresh,  and  so  carefully  tended.  It  touched  me  deeply  to 
find  that  Serena  had  been  here  regularly  twice  in  the  week  to 
look  after  them.  Dear,  amiable  Serena  !  I  loved  my  flowers  ; 
I  kissed  them,  they  were  so  beautiful.  I  have  cut  cauliflowers 
for  supper.  In  the  day  it  had  rained  a  little,  and  all  in  the 
garden  stood  fresh  and  full  of  fragrance,  although  the  frost 
had  touched  here  and  there  a  leaf  with  yellow.  It  is  now 
evening,  and  I  sit  down  to  my  writing-table.  I  have  seen 
the  swans  furrow  the  surface  of  the  quiet  lake,  as  they  drew 
towards  their  nest  on  Svano.  I  have  gazed  on  the  grey 
walls  of  Eamm,  within  which  I  have  lately  passed  through  so 
much.  I  am  happy  and  thankful.  I  await  the  return  of  my 
Bear  from  the  city,  where  he  has  been  the  whole  day,  and 
have  prepared  for  him  my  little  feast.  A  duck  from  the 
Helga  lake  shall  display  itself  large  as  life  on  our  little  table, 
and  in  its  train  shall  the  cauliflowers  and  the  freshest  salad 
find  themselves.  Pancakes  with  raspberry  jam  wiU  follow 
them  with  an  agreeable  grace.  As  the  evening  is  cold,  I  have 
caused  the  sitting-room  to  be  warmed,  and  Bear's  well-lined 
dressing-gown  and  slippers  to  be  displayed  before  the  fire  in 
due  state.  I  will  spoil  him  ;  and  while  I  am  yet  waiting  for 
the  good  man,  I  will  describe  to  you  some  of  the  scenes  of 
yesterday. 

Lagman  Hok  came  to  Eamm  in  order  to  accompany  Ma 
chere  mere  to  Carlsfors.  We  took  our  breakfast  en  familley 
during  which  the  carriages  drove  up.  The  weather  was  beau- 
tiful, and  we  were  all  in  high  spirits.  Hagar  assisted  with 
the  packing,  but  concealed  herself  behind  the  people  as  Ma 
chere  mere  with  a  lofty  and  proud  bearing  appeared  upon  the 
steps.  Bruno  conducted  his  mother  to  her  carriage.  She 
had  not  entered  it  before  the  horses  shied — the  horses  are 
abominable — at  the  sight  of  a  wagon  which,  covered  with 
a  black  cloth,  drove  slowly  into  the  court.  Bruno  shouted 
vehemently  for  it  to  stop.  The  wagon  halted,  and  the  driver 
came  forw^ard  to  Ma  chere  mere.  It  was  Master  Svensson, 
and  the  wagon  had  brought  the  coffin  which  Ma  chere  mere 
had  ordered,  and  which,  singularly  enough,  every  one  till  t  Jiis 
moment  had  forgotten  to  countermand. 

T 


290 


THE  NEIGHBOURS. 


This  extraordinary  rencounter  threw  us  into  the  utmost 
confusion.  Ma  chere  mere  was  the  first  to  recover  presence 
of  mind,  and  with  a  loud  voice  she  said  to  the  joiner — "  Good 
master,  I  have  this  time,  as  you  see,  reckoned  without  the 
host.  I  thought  to  die,  but  it  pleased  the  Lord  to  let  me 
live  ;  praised  be  his  will.  But  delayed  is  not  defrayed  !  The 
coffin  will  serve  me  another  time.  At  all  events,  I  abide  by 
the  agreement  for  the  price  ;  and  as  to  the  feast,  why,  Master 
Svensson,  I  invite  you  to  a  feast  of  congratulation  at  Carlsfors 
on  Sunday.  And  now,  you  can  carry  the  coffin  carefully 
thither  ;  I  am  on  the  way  there  myself." 

Master  Svensson  was  in  great  perplexity.  His  horse  was 
tired,  and  besides  that,  he  had  still  business  in  another  direc- 
tion. "  Well,  well,"  said  Ma  chere  mere,  "  let  the  coffin,  for 
the  present,  remain  here  where  it  is.  I  will  send  for  it  one 
of  these  days." 

Bruno  called  Hagar,  said  something  to  her ;  and  at  his 
beck  came  some  people  who  lifted  the  coffin  from  the  wagon, 
and  under  the  wagoner's  guidance  bore  it  into  the  house. 
"  Mark  my  words,"  said  Hagar,  as  she  went  past  me,  "  dis- 
aster will  soon  come  into  this  house.  This  coffin  will  not  be 
borne  empty  out  of  it." 

I  would  willingly  have  addressed  some  kind  expressions  to 
Hagar  at  parting,  for  she  was  unhappy,  and  had  shown  her- 
self friendly  towards  me,  but  this  scene  and  Hagar' s  words 
confounded  me  ;  and  by  the  time  that  I  had  again  collected 
my  thoughts,  she  was  gone,  and  Ma  chere  mere  called  to  me 
impatiently  to  come. 

Lagman  Hok  drove  on  first  in  his  desobligeant  in  order  to 
clear  the  way.  Then  came  Ma  chere  mere  with  Bruno  in 
her  great  family  carriage,  into  which  she  had  taken  Elsa  ; 
and  Bear  and  I  closed  the  train  in  the  cabriolet.  We  arrived 
nappily.  It  was  beautiful  to  see  Jean  Jacques  and  Jane 
Marie  standing  in  full  dress  in  the  gate,  which  they  had 
adorned  with  festival  garlands  for  the  reception  of  the  ex- 
pected ones.  It  was  beautiful  to  see  how  the  servants  and 
the  multitude  of  tenants  and  dependents  crowded  round  Ma 
chere  mere  as  she  descended  from  the  carriage.  Deep  emo 
tion  and  joy  appeared  in  herself  to  soften  down  her  customary 
pride  of  bearing,  as  supported  on  the  arm  of  her  son,  and 
o^^companied  by  a  multitude  of  people  uttering  blessings  and 


FEJL>'SISKA  WEENER  TO  MARIA  M. 


291 


prayers  for  her  happiness,  she  slowly  ascended  the  steps  be- 
fore the  house.  AYhen  she  arrived  at  the  top,  she  stood, 
turned  round,  and  made  a  sign  as  if  she  desired  silence.  After 
she  had  hemmed  several  times  as  if  she  would  clear  her  voice, 
she  made  the  following  harangue : 

]\Iy  dear  friends,  servants,  and  people  !  It  is  with  great 
joy  that  I  see  you  here  once  more  assembled  round  me,  since  I 
wish  to  announce  to  you  that  it  has  pleased  the  Almighty  to 
restore  to  me  my  son  Bruno  Mansfelt ;  who  has  been  long 
absent,  but  is  now  returned,  and  whom  you  see  standing  at 
my  right  hand.  He  it  is,  who  lately  saved  my  life  at  the  peril 
of  his  own ;  yes,  at  the  peril  of  his  own  ;  as  it  pleased  Grod 
to  terrify  my  horses  with  his  lightning,  by  w^hich  my  life  was 
in  danger,  but  through  this  my  son  was  saved ;  though  in 
effecting  this  he  was  so  much  injured  by  the  horses  that  he 
still  wears  a  bandage  on  his  head,  as  you  see,  my  friends. 

"  My  friends,  servants,  and  people !  I  announce  to  you 
that  I  have  really  recognised  and  owned  this  man  to  be  my 
only  son,  Bruno  Mansfelt ;  and  I  desire  and  demand  from 
you,  my  friends  and  servants,  that  you  conduct  yourselves 
accordingly,  and  treat  him  in  all  respects  as  my  rightful  son 
and  heir,  and  that  you  testify  to  him  all  reverence  and  obe- 
dience which  you  have  hitherto  testified  to  me  ;  and  I  equally 
hope  and  believe,  that  my  son  will  prove  himself  worthy 
thereof,  and  will  show  himself  to  be  an  upright  and  good  lord 
to  you.  And  now  I  pray  you,  my  dear  friends,  that  you 
join  with  me  in  imploring  the  blessing  of  the  Lord  on  his 
head." 

A  hearty  "  Long  live  Bruno  Mansfelt !"  burst  forth  at  the 
ponclusion  of  this  speech,  and  the  multitude  rushed  up  the 
steps,  and  pressed  round  Ma  chere  mere  and  Bruno  to  shake 
hands  with  them.  But  Ma  chere  mere  wisely  cut  short  this 
much  too  exhausting  scene.  Thanks !  thanks !  my  dear 
friends  !  but  you  must  now  excuse  it,  that  my  son  cannot 
longer  linger  amongst  you,  since  he  is  yet  so  weak  from  his 
wounds  that  he  requires  rest.  But  on  Sunday  we  will  have 
a  longer  chat  with  one  another.  I  invite  you  all  together  to 
come  to  Carlsfors  on  Sunday  as  my  guests,  and  to  rejoice 
with  me.  Beer  and  wine  shall  flow ;  and  every  one  who 
sympathises  in  my  joy,  and  will  drink  a  skal  to  my  son,  will 
be  heartily  welcome.    Adieu!  adieu!  my  dear  children!" 


292 


THE  NEIGHBOUES. 


And  with  this  Ma  chere  mere  took  Bruno's  arm  and  entered 
the  house. 

Bruno  was  in  reality  faint  and  strongly  affected,  and  Ma 
chere  mere  was  inexpressibly  amiable  in  her  tenderness  and 
care  for  him.  She  seemed  to  have  received  her  youth  again, 
as  she  put  Bruno's  chamber  in  order,  and  made  his  bed  her- 
self.   She  was  therewith  as  happy  as  a  joyful  young  mother, 

Bruno  spent  several  hours  alone  in  his  own  room.  When 
he  returned  to  us  again  he  was  very  pale ;  but  under  the  in- 
fluence of  his  mother's  gladness  he  became  every  moment 
more  cheerful  and  handsome  ;  and  this  worked  wonderfully 
on  us  all.  Ma  chere  mere  had  entreated  Bear  and  myself 
most  warmly  to  spend  the  evening  with  them ;  but  I  could 
not  be  truly  happy  till  we  rolled  on  our  way  beneath  the 
beams  of  the  moon  towards  our  beloved  Eosenvik.  When  I 
at  length  found  myself  in  my  own  room  at  home,  I  leaped  for 
very  joy,  and  embraced  and  kissed  my  little  Sissa,  who  re- 
turned my  embrace  with  heart  and  soul.  Bear  stood  and 
laughed.  This  morning  the  good  man  betook  himself  to 
Carlsfors  before  he  proceeded  to  the  city,  and  sent  me  thence 
these  lines : 

"  Few  words  are  better  than  none,  and  I  am  desirous  that 
my  Fanny  should  rejoice  with  me  that  all  stands  well  here. 
Bruno  is  far  better  to-day.  Ma  chere  mere  has  not  been  so 
full  of  the  freshness  and  enjoyment  of  life  for  many  years. 
I  rejoice — rejoice  over  the  reconciled,  over  the  sunshine,  over 
my  wife  ;  and  am,  in  time  and  eternity, 

"  Thy  Beae. 

"  P.S. — Don't  go  out  to-day,  dear  Fanny.  Ma  chere 
mere  said  that  she  should  fetch  thee ;  but  don't  let  her  fetch 
thee.  I  would  willingly  spend  another  quiet  evening  with 
thee  at  Eosenvik." 

Gro  out !  No,  no,  my  own  Bear ;  not  if  the  king  himself 
come  for  me.  Hist !  I  hear  a  carriage.  It  is  my  king — my 
Bear ! 

22ud. 

Do  you  remember,  dear  Maria,  a  little  song  which  begins 
tlius — 

Trust  not  in  life,  love ; 
Trust  not  in  gladness  ] 


FEANSISKA  WEENER  TO  MAEIA  M.  2^3 

That  would  I  sing  to-day  if  I  had  the  slightest  desire  to  sing 
at  all ;  but  I  have  not.  I  threw  down  my  pen  last  evening 
with  such  joy,  and  flew  to  meet  my  Bear  ;  but  the  moment  I 
saw  him  I  stood  still  and  dumb.  He  was  pale  and  looked 
excited,  though  he  reached  me  as  cordially  as  ever  his  dear 
hand.    I  exclaimed,  "  What  ails  thee.  Bear  ?  Art  thou  ill?" 

"  Has  anything  sorrowful  happened  ?  Ah,  tell  me  what 
it  is!" 

"  I  will  teU  thee  presently." 

That  presently  came  soon,  for  Bear  saw  my  uneasiness ; 
and  as  soon  as  we  were  in  the  room  alone,  he  seated  him- 
self on  the  sofa,  drew  me  to  him,  put  his  arm  round  me,  and 
said  quietly  and  tenderly — "  It  is,  in  a  word,  only  a  worldly 
affair,  my  Fanny ;  a  misfortune  which  I  am  persuaded  thou 
wilt  be  able  to  bear  as  well  as  myself,  if  not  indeed  better. 
See  here :  read  thyself."  And  he  laid  in  my  hand  a  letter. 
It  was  from  Peter,  written  in  evident  haste  and  agitation  of 

mind.    It  contained  the  intelligence  that  the  house  of  L  

and  Co.,  in  which  Bear,  on  the  advice  of  Peter,  had  placed 
his  property,  was  become  bankrupt,  and  to  such  a  degree  as 
gave  no  hope  that  the  creditors  would  receive  the  smallest 
particle  of  a  dividend.  Peter's  little  savings  were  gone  too. 
That  which  Bear  with  the  labours  of  twenty  years  had 
gathered  together  was  now  in  one  moment  lost  for  ever ! 

"  My  brother,  my  dearest  brother,"  so  Peter  concluded 
his  letter,  "  what  I  have  lost  is  little,  and  I  well  deserved  to 
lose  it,  because  I  was  not  more  circumspect ;  but  thou — thou 
art  unfortunate  through  me,  and  that  fills  me  with  despair. 
This  is  the  bitterest  feeling  which  in  my  life  I  ever  expe 

rienced.    If  I  were  not  chained  here  by  the  W  lawsuit, 

I  should  fly  to  thee  to  throw  myself  into  thy  arms,  and  im- 
plore thy  pardon."  Several  lines  which  followed  were  most 
indistinctly  written.  A  spot  on  the  paper,  evidently  caused 
by  a  tear,  made  the  last  word  illegible.  On  this  spot  Bear 
rivetted  his  eyes.  "  My  poor  Peter !"  said  he,  and  now  rolled 
forth  great  tears  over  his  pale  cheeks.  He  leaned  his  head 
against  my  bosom,  and  wept  for  a  moment  bitterly.  I  said 
nothing,  but  kissed  his  forehead,  and  let  him  feel  that  I  un- 
derstood him  and  felt  with  him.  He  became  more  composed^ 


2di 


THE  lOlIGHBOirES. 


ajad  we  soon  began  quite  calmly  to  talk  over  this  untoward 
occurrence  and  our  own  situation. 

"  I  am  now,"  said  Bear,  "on  the  same  point  on  which  1 
found  myself  twenty  years  ago.  The  prospect  of  a  care- free 
old  age  is  gone.  I  would  not  care  for  myself  were  I  but 
alone." 

"  Bear!"  I  exclaimed,  "  wouldst  thou  be  without  me  ?" 

"  Not  for  the  whole  world,"  answered  he  ;  "but  I  wished 
that  thou  shouldst  partake  my  prosperity  and  not  my 
poverty." 

"  Joy  and  trouble,  Bear  !  Vowed  we  not  in  the  marriage 
hour  to  partake  together  joy  and  trouble  ?  Ah !  comprehend 
it  then,  man,  that  it  is  my  pleasure  to  share  thy  trouble  when 
it  comes,  and  that  there  is  no  real  trouble  for  me  so  long  as 
thou  lovest  me  as  I  love  thee." 

I  must  sketch  no  more  of  this  conversation.  Thou,  Maria, 
wilt  easily  represent  to  thyself  its  continuance.  Ah,  it  is 
indeed  so  natural,  so  easy,  and  so  sweet,  for  a  wife  to  let  love 
and  comfort  stream  forth  on  such  occasions.  Shame  on  them 
who  could  make  a  merit  of  it ;  enjoyment  is  its  name.  Such 
moments  have  their  own  great  reward.  People  never  love 
each  other  so  intensely  as  then.  Bear  seemed,  indeed,  to  feel 
it ;  he  understood  my  devotion — understood  that  at  his  side 
neither  courage  nor  joy  could  fail  me.  He  was  more  affec- 
tionate to  me  than  usual — he  seemed  grateful  for  my  tender- 
ness ;  but  his  brow  did  not  clear  itself,  it  was  furrowed  with 
a  brooding  anxiety ;  and  with  his  hands  behind  him  he  paced 
the  apartment  to  and  fro,  but  not  spitting ;  this  custom  he 
has  entirely  laid  aside  now.  "Poor  Peter!"  sighed  he  at 
last,  "  I  can  understand  what  he  suffers  ;  and  he  cannot  come. 
I  wish  I  was  able  " 

"  To  go  to  him  ?"  I  suddenly  added,  guessing  what  it  was 
which  so  oppressed  him.  "  But  how  canst  thou  be  absent 
from  thy  patients  r" 

"  I  have  not  many  just  now,  and  none  which  are  seriously 
ill.  Dr.  D.  would  attend  them  in  my  absence.  Them  1 
could  very  well  leave  ;  but  in  this  moment  not — my  wife." 

"  Oh,  set  off  then,  my  Bear  !  the  wife  is  not  unreasonablt. 
Set  off,  give  Peter  peace,  and  satisfy  thy  own  heart.  The 
wife  will  think  of  thee ;  will  see  after  bouse  and  affairs. 


TRAKSISKA  WITRl^EE  TO  MARIA  M. 


295 


Don't  trouble  tliyself  on  that  account ;  she  will  not  be  uneasy 
or  impatient !  she  will  maintain  the  honour  of  her  husband." 

Bear  stretched  out  his.  arms  to  embrace  me ;  now  first  his 
brow  cleared  itself.  Ob,  the  good  man !  The  suffering  of 
his  brother  had  oppressed  him  more  than  his  own  loss.  So 
soon  as  the  journey  was  determined  on,  he  became  quiet ; 
and  till  deep  in  the  night  we  sate  and  talked  over  our  affairs, 
and  how  he  would  settle  our  plans  for  the  future.  That  the 
joy  of  my  little  feast  dissolved  itself  in  smoke,  you  may  well 
imagine.  For  the  first  time  since  we  were  married  was  Eear 
unable  to  eat,  and  I  could  not  even  bear  the  idea  of  it.  The 
duck  remained  untouched,  but  was  secretly  devoted  by  me  to 
Bear's  travelling  provision-basket.  Before  we  went  to  sleep 
our  minds  were  again  as  full  of  peace  and  content  as  if  no 
misfortune  had  fallen  on  our  house  ;  and  we  closed  this  day, 
as  we  had  done  so  many  others,  with  thanks  to  the  All-good, 
for  our  happiness. 

Yesterday  Bear  set  out ;  first  to  the  city,  where  he  must 
spend  the  greater  part  of  the  day.  In  the  evening  he  would 
proceed  further,  and  will  remain  away  probably  a  fortnight. 
That  is  long.  Thus  left,  I  sit  here  and  feel  that  my  resolu- 
tion by  no  means  maintains  the  height  to  which  it  mounted 
in  the  first  moments  of  our  misfortune.  But  deep  it  shall 
not  sink  ;  that  I  have  resolved  with  myself.  The  change  in 
our  circumstances  which  goes  most  to  my  heart  is  that  we 
must  leave  our  little  Bosenvik,  and  set  ourselves  down  fixed 
and  for  ever  in  the  city.  Our  means  will  not  allow  us  any 
longer  to  have  a  country  residence  for  the  mere  enjoyment's 
sake.  In  the  depth  of  my  own  mind  I  propose  again  to  teach 
music.  Oh,  fie  upon  the  tear  which  here  has  fallen  upon  the 
paper  !  there  shall  not  be  a  second.  I  know,  indeed,  that  all 
will  succeed  and  succeed  well,  w^hen  one  has  courage  in  the 
soul  and  peace  in  the  heart  and  the  house.  How  miserable 
it  would  be  of  me  to  be  in  anxiety  about  the  future,  possess- 
ing as  I  do  one  of  the  best  chances  of  life,  my  good  and 
estimable  husband ! 

Bear  desired  that  our  misfortune,  for  the  present,  should 
remain  unknown  in  the  neighbourhood.  I  will  take  care, 
therefore,  to  give  nobody  a  suspicion  of  it.  I  will  keep  the 
promise  I  have  given  him,  will  be  calm,  and  seek  diversion  in 
work,    I  have  much  to  do  in  the  garden.    I  will  plant  manjj 


296 


THE  l^EIGHBOUES. 


rose-bushes  ;  and  if  it  be  not  allowed  me  to  smell  these  rosof , 
well  then,  they  will  at  least  rejoice  the  noses  of  others. 

23rd,  Evening. 

I  am  quite  refreshed  by  my  garden  labours.  Serena  has 
spent  the  whole  day  with  me,  and  afforded  me  great  assist- 
ance. We  have  made  a  strawberry  bed,  planted  gooseberries 
and  roses.  I  hope  they  will  prosper ;  and  how  refreshing  is 
such  employment !  But  what  has  done  me  more  good  than 
the  rest  is,  that  Serena  has  opened  to  me  all  her  heart — that 
good,  loving,  and  pure  heart.  All  is  as  I  had  suspected. 
Serena  loves  Bruno — Bruno,  Serena.  For  the  present,  how- 
ever, the  connexion  seems  to  be  broken  off ;  but  that  it  will 
continue  so,  that  I  do  not  believe.  And  yet,  shall  I  desire  a 
union  between  them  ?  Ah,  I  know  not !  To-day  Serena  is 
pale ;  one  sees  that  she  has  suffered  much.  She  is  now  getting 
ready  our  tea,  and  stands  by  the  table,  graceful  as  an  angel, 
but  sunk  in  thought,  and  with  a  sorrowful  expression  about 
the  mouth.  I  have  related  to  her  the  whole  of  that  which  I 
lately  witnessed  and  passed  through  at  Eamm  ;  and  as  I  pro« 
ceeded,  I  saw  her  become  pale,  redden,  weep,  suffer  keenly, 
and  then  rise  as  it  were  into  a  radiant  trance  of  rapture.  She 
calls — "Tea  is  ready."  "I  come,  dear  creature."  Good 
evening,  dear  Maria.  I  reckon  to-night  on  a  good,  sound 
sleep.  To-morrow  I  shall  spend  with  Ma  chere  mere.  Every 
day  I  go  on  writing  a  letter  to  Bear.  It  will  be  a  mighty 
packet  of  important  nothings. 

Later. 

I  have  had  a  fright,  and  I  am  yet  full  of  the  terror  of  it ! 
As  Serena  set  out  homewards,  I  accompanied  her  through  the 
yard.  The  air  had,  for  the  lateness  of  the  season,  an  un- 
wonted mildness, — and  nature,  in  her  autumnal,  half-sorrow- 
ful beauty,  lay  peacefully  around  us,  flushed  with  the  clear 
evening  rose.  Serena,  sensibly  alive  to  the  enjoyment  of  the 
hour,  said,  while  we  walked  a  few  paces  towards  the  garden, 
"  Dost  thou  not  believe,  Fanny,  that  sometimes  there  lives 
in  the  air  what  one  may  pronounce  goodness,  and  which  im- 
mediately operates  beneficially  on  the  heart,  from  which  we 
become  ourselves  good?" 

"  Serena,"  I  said,  "thou  expressest  my  own  very  feeling; 
but  I  must  at  the  same  time  ask  thee,  whether  thou  hast  not 


FEAKSTSKA  WEES^EE  TO  MAEIA  M. 


297 


discovered  in  raw  autumn  weather  a  proneness  to  become 
also  harsh  in  miud  ?" 

"  O  jes  !"  replied  Serena,  "but  we  must  then  seek  for  the 
remal  atmosphere  of  a  higher  region." 

"  But  this  is  not  always  so  easy ;  and  perhaps  for  those 
K-ho  do  not  love  is  impossible." 

"Yes,"  said  she,  "happy  are  they  who  have  something  to 
love  on  earth  or  in  heaven.  But  who,"  added  she,  while  her 
look  became  more  earnest,  and,  as  it  were,  inspired,  "  who 
needs  be  wholly  destitute  of  this  ?  Is  not  the  world  full  of 
objects  worthy  of  our  love  ?  Does  it  not  rest  with  ourselves 
alone  to  open  our  souls  to  these  ?  And  now,  Tanny" — and 
she  looked  around  on  the  beautiful  landscape — "  are  we  not, 
even  now,  surrounded  by  living  and  love-worthy  natures  ? 
Ah  !  it  seems  often  to  me,  that  voices  proceed  from  trees  and 
flowers,  from  stars  and  animals,  which  speak  to  me  of  the 
great  and  good  Creator,  and  of  the  life  which  they  have 
received  from  him.  Everywhere  a  spirit  meets  me,  which  is 
like  my  own  ;  which  I  can  understand,  and  love  ;  and  where, 
and  in  what  circumstance  of  life,  breathe  not  such  voices  from 
the  things  and  beings  which  surround  us  ?  There  is  only 
demanded  of  us  an  open  ear." 

"And  a  pure  heart,"  rejoined  I,  embracing  her.  "Yes, 
then  would  the  whole  of  human  life  become  one  continued 
conversation  with  Grod,  and  we  should  have  neither  bitterness 
nor  ennui.    But  " 

"But  I  lose  all  recollection,"  said  Serena,  "while  I  talk 
with  you.  The  carriage  has  long  waited ;  I  must  go  ;  adieu, 
dearest  Fanny,  adieu  !" 

Serena  departed ;  and  scarcely  was  she  out  of  sight,  when 
my  gaze  was  suddenly  struck  with  a  pair  of  eyes  whose 
expression  was  unlike  that  of  Serena's.  They  glanced  like 
two  coals  of  fire  out  of  the  hedge  of  lilac,  in  which  their 
owner  appeared  to  be  purposely  concealed.  I  started,  said 
to  myself,  "  Lucifer !"  and  stared  at  the  two  burning  gulphs. 
They  were  now  fixed  on  me,  and  Hagar  darted  forth  from  the 
hedge.  "With  a  countenance  which  gave  to  the  wild  feeling  a 
terrible  expression,  she  stood  before  me,  and  in  a  vehement 
tone  demanded — "  Is  it  she,  is  it  she,  that  he  loves  ?  Tell 
me,  is  it  she  ?"  I  was  about  to  answer  her  calmly,  when  in 
the  same  moment  some  one  approached.    Hagar  stamped 


298 


THE  KEIOHBOTTRS, 


furiously  with  her  foot ;  wrung  passionately  her  hands,  while 
she  muttered  between  her  teeth — "Woe!  woe  to  her  and 
to  me  !"  and  was  gone. 

Horror-stricken  and  confounded,  I  entered  the  house; 
saying  to  myself,  "  there  is  a  difference  between  love  and 
love ;  there  is  a  difference  between  whom,  and  how,  and 
what  " 

This  scene  has  startled  and  quite  unhinged  me.  "Would 
to  God  that  Bear  was  but  at  home ! 

CHAPTEE  XVII. 

Rosenvik,  September  28th. 
There  is  something  strange  about  Ma  chere  mere  since  the 
day  that  she  returned  to  Carlsfors.  She  is  no  longer  like 
herself;  she  is  singularly  still,  and,  as  it  were,  sunk  in  a 
dream.  Her  steps  and  her  voice  resound  no  longer  through 
the  spacious  halls  of  Carlsfors.  One  hears  no  house-thunder, 
no  words  of  reproof,  any  longer ;  but  at  the  same  time,  no 
proverbs,  no  fresh  domestic  joke  and  sport  either.  Trom 
that  day  she  seems  no  longer  to  take  interest  in  what  is 
going  forward.  Inspector  and  book-keeper  come  to  consult 
her  on  the  concerns  of  the  estate,  and  she  refers  them  to  Jean 
Jacques.  The  maids  come  to  speak  of  their  affairs,  and  she 
refers  them  to  Tuttin.  Tuttin  comes  to  deliver  her  accounts, 
and  to  receive  orders,  and  stays  long,  and  lays  many  matters 
before  her,  but  receives  no  answer.  Ma  chere  mere  appears 
at  last  to  forget  that  she  is  in  the  room,  and  Tuttin,  after  she 
has  coughed  and  wondered,  has  asked  and  waited,  withdraws 
with  a  troubled  mind,  and  still  secretly  charmed  at  the  pros- 
pect of  becoming  the  sole  ruling  and  ordering  power  in  the 
house,  but  presently  stumbles  on  Jane  Marie,  who  takes  her 
by  degrees  under  her  tyranny.  Even  towards  Bruno  is  Ma 
chere  mere  changed ;  and  when  he  is  within,  she  sits  silent,  and 
looks  at  him  fixedly.  Yesterday  as  she  sate  thus,  with  her  eyes 
directed  towards  him,  I  saw  two  large  tears  roll  down  her 
cheeks.  They  were  the  first  which  I  have  seen  her  shed  since 
she  had  found  her  son  again.  What  can  be  working  in  her 
mind  ?  What  can  this  brooding  and  unwonted  silence  por- 
tend ?    May  no  attack  of  hypochondria,  or  worse,  impend? 


FEAXSISKA  WEEKEE  TO  MAETA  M. 


299 


I  am  very  aneasy.  Bruno  eyen  fears  somewhat  eyil.  He  took 
me  aside  vesterdaj,  and  asked  in  distress,  what  was  the  matter 
with  his  mother  ?  I  could  giye  him  no  explanation,  and 
Bear  is  absent ;  what  shall  we  do  without  him  ?  I  haye 
written  and  informed  him  of  the  state  of  things,  here  so  that 
if  it  be  possible  he  may  hasten  his  return. 

October  3rd. 

I  receiyed  yesterday  a  letter  from  Bear.  In  his  letters  he 
is  still  more  laconic  than  in  his  conyersation,  but  there  is 
always  a  certain  raciness  about  his  words.  I  could  draw  from 
his  letter,  though  it  did  not  stand  literally  expressed  there,  that 
his  arriyal  had  giyen  new  life  to  Peter ;  and  that  his  journey  in 
yarious  respects  had  been  advantageous.  Of  Ebba  he  says, 
"  she  looks  like  a  little  bird,  that  when  the  darkness  comes 
hides  its  head  under  its  wing.  It  is  well  that  Peter  is  now  the 
wing."  On  the  whole,  Bear's  letter  was  infinitely  kind  and 
satisfactory.  He  hoped  by  the  sixth  of  October  to  be  here. 
May  he  soon  come  ;  his  presence  is  highly  necessary.  I  be- 
come continually  more  uneasy  about  Ma  chere  mere.  Some 
great  change  is  to  a  certainty  in  progress  in  her,  and  now  that  I 
seriously  fear  for  her,  I  feel  more  and  more  how  yery  dear  she 
is  to  me.  Por  some  days  she  has  been  yet  stiller,  yet  more  sunk 
in  reyerie,  and  seems  to  possess  a  certain  inward  quiet ;  but  in 
all  her  movements,  in  all  that  she  undertakes,  preyails  an  un- 
certainty, a  confusion,  a  want  of  tact  and  aptitude,  so  imlike 
her  former  firm  and  able  manner.  She  is,  moreover,  so  un- 
wontedly  mild  and  kind,  that  the  servants  of  the  household 
are  astonished  and  affected  by  it.  They  look  at  one  another, 
and  seem  to  say,  "  What  ails  her  ?"    So  ask  I  also. 

October  7th. 

Ah !  Maria,  now  I  know  aU,  and  you  shall  learn  all  too. 
Bear  came  home  the  evening  before  last.  I  received  him  as 
if  he  had  been  the  only  human  creature  in  the  world,  that  is 
to  say,  besides  myself.  What  he  told  me  of  his  journey,  of 
our  affairs,  of  Ebba  and  Peter,  I  will  relate  to  you  another 
time :  I  can  now  only  talk  of  that  which  occurred  yesterday. 

It  was  Sunday,  and  we  went  to  dine  at  Carlsfors.  Bear's 
eyes  were  fix:ed  scrutinizingly  on  Ma  chere  mere,  and  his 
grimaces  portended  nothing  good ;  that  is,  they  aU  vanished^ 


300 


THE  NETGHBOUKS. 


which  is  a  sign  that  his  thoughts  are  serious  and  sorrowful 
At  table,  Ma  chere  mere  had  Bear  at  her  right  hand,  and 
Bruno  at  her  left.  She  was  still  and  brooding,  but  also  ex- 
tremely pale.  Her  bearing  was  not  so  proud,  her  toilet  not 
so  orderly  as  usual.  It  grieved  me  to  see  her.  As  the  soup 
was  removed,  she  poured  out  wine  for  Bruno;  it  ran  in 
streams  on  the  tablecloth,  but  she  did  not  observe  it. 
Bruno  wished  to  take  the  bottle  out  of  her  hand,  saying 
softly,  "  Dear  mother,  you  pour  the  wine  on  the  table." 

"  Do  I  ?"  said  she,  with  a  melancholy  tone ;  "  then  I  per- 
ceive that  it  is  all  over  with  me,  my  son.  Pour  out  wine  for 
thyself;  thy  mother  will  do  it  no  more !"  She  set  the  bottle 
on  the  table,  pushed  her  chair  from  her,  and  arose.  We  all 
arose  too,  with  one  common  impulse.  "Eemain  sitting," 
said  Ma  chere  mere,  with  a  strong  and  imperative  voice  : 
"  remain  sitting  ;  no  one  may  follow  me." 

She  saluted  us  with  the  hand,  and  passed  with  slow  and 
majestic  steps  through  the  wondering  servants,  but  ran 
against  the  door,  at  which  both  Bear  and  Bruno  sprang  for- 
ward. She  turned  quickly  and  cried,  "  "Whoever  follows  me 
is  not  my  friend.  Eemain  quietly  here,"  she  added,  in  a 
softer  tone,  "  I  will  presently  have  you  called." 

We  knew  too  well  Ma  chere  mere's  temperament  to 
attempt  to  disregard  her  thus  solemnly-pronounced  will ;  but 
you  cannot  imagine  the  state  of  excitement  and  suspense  in 
which  we  found  ourselves.  Tor  more  than  an  hour  we  con- 
tinued in  this  painful  expectation.  I  suffered  deeply  with 
Bruno's  suffering.  With  darkly  wrinkled  brows  he  went 
agitatedly  to  and  fro  in  the  room,  and  from  time  to  time 
wiped  the  perspiration  from  his  forehead.  At  length  came 
Elsa.  The  quiet  servant  was  no  more  like  herself.  With 
perplexed  look  and  faltering  voice  she  requested  us  to  come 
to  Madame  Mansfelt.  Bruno  sprang  forward  first ;  we  fol- 
lowed him  ;  and  with  mternal  trembling  I  expected  to  behold 
something  horrible.  But  no  ;  no  fearful  spectacle  met  us  in 
Ma  chere  mere's  chamber.  She  sate  in  the  background  in 
her  easy-chair,  upright  and  still,  but  with  no  general's  mien, 
and  only  on  the  pale  countenance,  on  the  red  and  swollen  eye- 
lids, appeared  the  traces  of  a  powerful  but  seLf-conquered 
agitation  of  mind. 

"  Are  vou  all  here  ?"  inquired  Ma  chere  mere  with  a  firm 


TBANSISKA  WEENER  TO  MARIA  M. 


301 


voice.  "We  replied  in  the  affirmative,  at  the  same  time 
gathering  round  her.  "  My  children,"  began  now  Ma  chere 
mere,  with  a  strange  mixture  of  strength  and  humility,  *•  I 
wished  to  be  alone  for  a  moment,  in  order  to  prepare  myself 
as  becomes  a  Christian  to  appear  before  you,  and  to  reveal  to 
you  my  misfortune.  Chagrin  has  now  had  its  full  dominion, 
it  is  time  that  reason  should  have  its.  My  dear  children,  the 
hand  of  the  Lord  lies  heavy  on  me ;  He  has  smitten  my  eyes 
with  darkness." 

A  smothered  expression  of  grief  was  heard,  and  its  echo 
spread  itself  around.  I  seized  Bear's  hand,  and  saw  in  his 
countenance  that  he  had  already  suspected  the  real  matter. 

"  My  dear  children,"  began  Ma  chere  mere  again,  "you 
must  not  distress  yourselves  about  me.  I  myself  grieve  no 
longer.  At  first,  I  acknowledge  that  it  went  hard  with  me ; 
and  for  a  long  time  I  would  not  believe  that  it  could  be  so 
with  me  as  it  now  is.  No ;  I  would  not  concede  to  it ;  I 
resisted  the  idea  of  it;  I  murmured  in  myself;  I  was  like 
the  old  woman  against  the  stream.  But  it  became  continually 
darker  and  darker ;  the  calamity  became  more  certain ;  to- 
day it  became  perfectly  clear;  and  now — I  have  humbled 
myself.  Ah  !  my  children,  let  us,  in  the  first  place,  reflect 
that  it  is  in  vain  to  strive  vdth  our  Lord  Grod ;  when  we 
throw  little  stones  at  Him,  He  throws  back  again  great  ones 
at  us.  In  the  second,  that  we  are  shortsighted  mortals,  and 
know  but  little  what  is  best  for  us  and  for  others ;  and  on 
that  account,  my  children,  it  is  good  for  us  to  bow  ourselves 
beneath  the  hand  of  our  Lord  God,  and  to  be  obedient  to 
Him,  for  He  knows  well  what  He  does." 

I  could  stand  quietly  no  longer.  I  threw  myself  with  tears 
in  my  eyes  on  the  neck  of  Ma  chere  mere,  exclaiming — 
"  Bear  will  help  Ma  chere  mere  ;  he  will  restore  her  sight- 
again  to  her !" 

"  I  hope  really  to  be  able  to  do  it,"  said  Bear,  drawing 
near  ;  and  as  he  seized  her  hand  looked  keenly  at  her.  "  It 
is  the  cataract.  It  can  be  cured.  In  two  or  three  years  it 
wiU  probably  be  matured,  and  then  an  operation  can  be  per- 
formed." 

"  Lara  Anders,"  said  Ma  chere  mere,  while  she  pressed  his 
hand,  "  I  believe  you,  and  in  this  faith  I  live  happily.  I  will 
wait  patiently  till  the  day  comes  when  I  may  again  behold 


302 


THE  NEIGHBOUES. 


the  Lord's  sun ;  and  should  it  never  come  for  me  on  the  cartli, 
I  will  yet  sit  in  my  darkness  in  resignation.  I  have  formerly 
sate  in  a  deeper  darkness ;  I  am  now  in  comparison  happy. 
My  eyes  have  been  permitted  to  see  the  fulness  of  a  great 
joy ;  and  if  I  indeed  cannot  see,  I  can  yet  hear  my  son,  and 
— yon  aU,"  added  she,  as  fearing  to  do  ns  an  injustice. 

Bruno  stood  leaning  over  his  mother  ;  his  head  was  bowed 
down  to  hers  ;  she  felt  his  breath  on  her  forehead.  "  Is  that 
thou,  my  son  ?"  asked  she  tenderly,  and  lifted  somewhat  her 
darkened  eyes. 

"  Yes,  my  mother,"  answered  he,  in  a  voice  melodious  and 
full  of  emotion. 

"  Give  me  then  thy  arm,  my  son,  and  conduct  me  into  the 
drawing-room,"  said  Ma  chere  mere.  "  And  you  all,  my 
children,  follow  me.  Eruno  will  play  us  one  of  his  beautiful 
pieces,  and  we  will  all  be  as  we  were  before.  Comply  with 
my  wish  in  this,  my  children,  and  do  not  let  my  misfortune 
trouble  you;  don't  imagine  that  it  is  necessary  to  com- 
passionate me.  No  one  shall  have  more  trouble  than  formerly 
to  wait  on  and  be  helpful  to  me.  I  shall  soon  be  able  to  help 
myself ;  and  should  I  need  sometimes  the  hand  or  the  eye 
of  another,  I  will  ask  for  it,  and  am  qnite  certain  that  I  shall 
have  it.  For  the  rest,  we  will  trouble  ourselves  as  little 
as  possible  abont  this  occurrence.  '  It  is  old  wife's  com- 
fort,' said  our  great  Q-ustavns  Adolphus,  'to  grieve  and 
complain;'  and  I  say  it  becomes  every  sensible  person  to 
trust  in  God,  and  patiently  to  bear  the  cross  laid  upon 
him." 

"With  this  she  ttrose,  gave  her  arm  to  Bruno,  but  he  put 
his  arm  round  her,  while  he  pressed  with  inexpressible  ten- 
derness her  hand  to  his  Ups,  and  so  conducted  her  out  of  the 
room.  A  faint  red  on  this  flushed  Ma  chere  mere's  pale 
cheeks,  and  with  a  smile  which  one  might  style  that  of 
happiness,  she  leaned  her  head  against  his  shoulder.  So 
they  went  on,  and  we  followed. 

Bruno  played  as  his  mother  had  desired,  and  played 
divinely.  I  have  never  yet  heard  any  one  draw  such  tones 
out  of  an  instrument.  "  He  plays  not  like  an  angel,  but 
an  archangel,"  said  Ma  chere  mere.  But  as  he  descended 
to  gloomier  notes,  "  Dear  son !"  said  she,  "  play  something 
more  lively  j  that  is  quite  woe-begone."    Like  the  celebrated 


TEAITSISKA  TVEENER  TO  MARIA  M, 


303 


Queen  Elizabeth,  Ma  chere  mere  loves,  properly  speaking, 
only  gladsome  and  stormy  music. 

After  the  music,  arose  a  general  conversation.  "We  drew 
m  a  ring  round  Ma  chere  mere,  spite  of  her  prohibition,  and 
every  one  did  his  best  to  amuse  and  entertain  her,  and  never 
have  I  Tvitnessed  so  spirited  and  animated  a  party  ;  even  Ma 
chere  mere  was  more  lively  and  elated  than  I  had  ever  seen 
her.  Bruno  shone  in  interesting  and  finely-related  stories. 
Ma  chere  mere  sometimes  screamed  quite  aloud — now  from 
terror,  now  from  astonishment  and  delight ;  and  I  must 
confess  that  I  did  the  same.  Wonderful,  incomprehensible, 
interesting  Bruno  !  Afternoon  and  evening  flew  by  in  such 
discourse;  everybody  was  amazed  when  supper  was  an- 
Qounced  ;  and  Ma  chere  mere  said  as  she  arose,  "  My  dear 
children,  you  are  this  evening  so  excessively  merry  and  in- 
teresting, that  I  could  sit  up  all  night  and  listen  to  you ;  but 
'  he  that  eats  out  of  the  iron  pot  will  have  nothing  in  the 
dish,'  and  we  must  no  more  indulge  to  excess  in  pleasures 
than  in  other  things.  I  have  not  been  very  well  to-day,  and 
shall  do  the  wisest  to  get  to  bed.  I  thank  you  aU,  my 
children,  for  a  happy  evening,  and  wish  you  a  blessing  on 
your  supper,  and  a  good  night." 

Bruno  conducted  his  mother  to  her  chamber,  and  stayed 
some  time  with  her.  When  he  returned,  he  was  still,  sor- 
rowful, but  mild.  After  supper  he  talked  long  with  Bear 
respecting  the  cataract,  and  inquired  very  exactly  concern- 
ing the  nature  and  development  of  it,  and  the  operation 
upon  it ;  all  which  the  good  doctor  described  con  amove. 
Bear  regards  it  as  probable  that  it  has  originated  in  her  vio- 
lent agitation  of  mind  on  the  discovery  of  her  son ;  but  of 
that  Bruno  must  suspect  nothing.  It  is  singular  that  thia 
mother  and  this  son  seem  conducted  by  fate  to  occasion  mis- 
chief to  each  other ;  but  now,  since  the  blindness  has  shown 
itself,  the  conflict  will  probably  cease,  and  the  angel  of  recon- 
ciliation, which  has  descended  into  their  souls,  spread  its 
wings  over  their  future  life.  But  how  will  it  be  in  this  future 
with  Ma  chere  mere  ?  Will  her  strength  of  mind  be  able  to 
maintain  itself  ?  Will  her  physical  strength  not  sink  ? 
What  will  she  do — in  what  employ  herself  ?  She  who  has 
been  so  commanding,  so  restless,  will  she  not  become  op- 
pressed by  inactivity  ?    Will  she  not  become  splenetic,  quar- 


304 


THE  NEIGHBOIJES. 


relsome,  peevish,  a  plague  to  herself  and  others  ?  Tell 

me,  Bear,  what  thou  thinkest  about  it  ?"  "  Hum !  we 

shall  see.'' 

9th. 

We  are  endeavouring  to  bring  our  affairs  into  order ;  but 
it  is  more  difficult  than  we  at  first  imagined.  Heavy  debts 
will  oppress  us ;  Bear's  benevolence  towards  poor  relations 
on  his  mother's  side  now  falls  with  a  heavy  burden  upon  him. 
Many  retrenchments  must  be  made  in  our  housekeeping  ; 
and  yet  I  can  see  well  that  we  shall  enter  the  winter  with  a 
complete  destitution  of  money.  But  Bear  is  strong  and 
kind,  and  as  soon  as  we  get  into  the  city  I  will  give  music- 
lessons.  "We  shall  remove  thither  very  soon.  Bear  has  taken 
a  little  house  of  three  rooms  and  a  kitchen.  It  grieves  me 
now  to  leave  Ma  chere  mere.  Since  our  last  being  together, 
she  has  not  been  well.  I  have  toothache,  and  my  heart  is 
heavy.  There  come  times  in  which  all  is  so  tedious.  But 
we  must  not  then  forget  that  we  have  had  enjoyment — that 
we  have  been  happy.  I  will  not  do  it,  and  I  will  not  make 
my  life  bitter  by  too  much  impatience.  Heaviness  I  hate  as 
cordially  as  even  Miss  Hellevi  Husgafvel  does ;  but  I  now 
feel  that  there  are  difficulties,  burdens,  of  which  one  cannot 
get  rid ;  and  we  must  therefore  do  our  best  to  bear  them 
lightly. 

14th. 

Long  life  to  Ma  chere  mere  !  No  one  ever  can  show  him- 
self more  reasonable  under  misfortune  than  she  does.  JSTo 
one  can  with  more  dignity  bow  beneath  the  hand  of  the  Lord. 
She  has  transferred  the  whole  of  the  out-door  management  to 
Jean  Jacques,  of  the  domestic  to  Jane  Marie,  and  only  re- 
served the  right  to  be  consulted  on  certain  occasions.  At 
the  carrying  out  of  this  arrangement  she  made  a  great  and 
formal  oration  to  the  servants  and  dependents.  Tuttin  has 
given  warning  to  leave  next  spring.  She  and  Jane  Marie 
are  not  the  best  friends.    Ma  chere  mere  has  further  written 

to  the  B  Institution  in  Stockholm,  for  a  person  who 

shall  instruct  her  how  to  employ  herself  with  different  things 
in  her  blindness  ;  as,  for  instance,  in  writing,  card-playing, 
etc.  In  the  mean  time  she  works  diligently  at  her  great  net, 
and  plays  with  great  zeal  on  her  violin.  In  temper  she  is 
quiet,  kind,  and  very  cheerful.    I  must  also  say  that  so  far 


^RA^'SISKA  AVERNEE  TO  MARIA  M.  c05 

Jane  Marie  conducts  herself  admirably  towards  her;  and  in 
the  evenings,  with  self-denial  which  is  meritorious,  plays  all 
the  sonata  from  Steibelt  and  Pleyel  "  avec  accompagnement 
de  Wolon,"  which  Ma  chere  mere  can  play  by  rote  on  her 
violin.  Ma  chere  mere  also  shows  herself  more  cordial  to- 
wards Jane  Marie,  which  appears  to  be  felt  with  a  good  effect 
by  her.  Brnno  is  every  day  at  Carlsfors.  Ma  chere  mere 
already  knows  the  sound  of  his  horse's  feet ;  her  face  flushe 
when  she  hears  it,  and  she  says — "  Now  he  comes  !"  When 
he  IS  with  her  there  prevails  something  more  womanly  and 
amiable  than  usual  in  her  disposition.  Bruno  is  going  to 
purchase  Eamm,  and  settle  there. 

15th. 

We  made  to-day  various  payments  which  took  all  our 
money.  I  believed  that  we  had  not  a  single  penny  left,  but 
I  discovered  that  we  still  possessed  a  twelve- shilling  piece, 
and  I  rejoiced  so  much  over  it  that  I  was  obliged  actually  to 
laugh  at  myself;  then  I  wept ;  and  after  that  laughed  again, 
and  embraced  my  Bear.  The  day  after  to-morrow  we  remove 
into  the  city.  I  think  with  delight  that  I  shall  then  see 
Serena,  and  the  excellent  old  Dahls.  Besides  this,  we  will 
make  no  acquaintance  at  all,  but  will  live  quietly  and  to  our- 
selves. The  winter  will  soon  pass  over — but  in  the  spring  ! 
— ah !  in  the  spring,  when  all  is  lovely  in  the  country,  when 

the  air  and  flowers,  butterflies  and  the  song  of  birds  no, 

I  will  not  make  myself  sad ;  I  really  will  not.  I  will  have 
flowers  in  my  room,  and  I  will  myself  be  butterfly,  both  for 
them  and  for  my  Bear. 

CHAPTEE  XVIII. 

W  ,  October  20th. 

We  have  been  in  the  city  three  days.  We  left  Eosenvik 
on  Monday  morning  ;  not  without  tears  on  my  part,  I  con- 
fess it ;  but  I  took  care  not  to  let  Bear  see  them.  Ah  !  I 
shall  never  again  call  the  dearest  of  little  places  mine !  The 
morning  was  grey  and  raw ;  snow  flew  in  the  air ;  the  road 
was  rough  with  the  night  frost.  PoUe,  the  poor  horse,  drew 
Bear  and  his  Bearess  heavily  along.  We  breakfasted  at 
Bird's  Nest,  whither  Miss  Hellevi  Husgafvel  had  preKSsinglj 


306 


THE  NEIGHBOURS. 


invited  us.  Her  excellent  coffee,  with  the  aceompinjing 
dainties,  her  lovely  museum,  and  a  cheerful  gossip,  revived 
me  ;  and  I  arrived  in  the  city  in  good  spirits. 

Our  three  rooms  are  neat  and  comfortable,  but  do  not  lie 
on  the  sunny  side,  which  I  regret.  Farewell,  my  flowers ! 
Well,  we  can  live  without  them.  I  have  during  three  days 
rummaged  about  greatly.  Yesterday  I  put  up  curtains  my- 
self in  our  apartments.  Serena  was  here,  and  helped  me. 
How  interesting  the  conversation  over  this  was  you  can 
imagine.  "  My  angel,  give  me  that  piece  of  muslin." — 
"  Have  you  the  scissors  ?" — "  Where  is  the  needle-case  ?" — 
"  Here "  The  hammer  ?"— "  There "  Does  the  valance 
hang  crooked?"— "A  little,  to  the  left."— "  This  nail  is 
blunted." — "  Here,  here  is  another  ;"  and  so  on.  And  there 
was  some  joke,  some  laughter.  With  Serena  work  becomes 
pleasure ;  she  does  all  easily  and  well.  Towards  noon  we 
had  all  in  order,  and  when  Bear  came  home  I  led  him  with 
some  pride  into  his  room,  which  he  had  never  before  seen  so 
adorned.  "Ah!  the  d — 1 !"  he  exclaimed,  gaping  and  gri- 
macing with  all  his  might. 

Serena  dined  with  us.  She  was  merry,  and  joked  with 
Bear.  The  dinner  was  good  ;  it  was  a  pleasant  little  meal. 
When  Serena,  after  dinner,  had  left  us.  Bear  fell  into  a  sort 
of  ecstasy  over  her,  and  exclaimed,  "  She  is  an  actual  angel!" 

"  Yes,  Bear ;  and  on  that  account  she  would  be  not  in  the 
least  suitable  as  a  wife  for  thee." 

"  Not  in  the  least ;  even  as  little  as  I  am  fit  for  a  husband 
for  her.  For  me  there  is  only  one  that  is  suitable,  and  that 
is  my  wife." 

"  Well,  that  is  indeed  admirable,  and  as  it  ougbt  to  be  !" 

All  is  now  in  order  in  my  little  house ;  had  I  only  a  little 
sun.  But,  thank  God,  I  have  the  best  sunshine  of  the  house. 
T  have  peace ! 

November  1st. 

Our  misfortune  is  now  ever3nvhere  known.  Do  you  know 
how  we  first  became  aware  of  this  ?  By  Bruno  coming  one 
morning  to  Bear,  and  putting  half  of  his  property  at  his  com- 
mand. It  troubled  him  that  Bear  would  receive  nothing  ex- 
cept the  loan  of  a  certain  sum,  and  that  to  liquidate  a  debt 
which  now  pressed  upon  him.  The  worthy  old  Dahl  also 
came  to  Bear,  and  offered  him  his  services.    All  our  acquaint- 


FBA.NSISKA  WERNEE  TO  MAllIA  M. 


307 


ances  have  shown  us  much  kindness  and  sympathy ;  many  ol 
the  families  which  employ  Bear  as  a  physician,  have  immedi- 
ately sent  in  their  annual  payment.  By  all  this  our  present 
cares  are  swept  away,  and  I  am  charmed  with  the  goodness 
of  men. 

But  no  kindness,  no  visit,  has  yet  affected  me  so  much  as 
that  of  Ma  chere  mere.  She  came  yesterday  afternoon,  so 
friendly  and  cordial.  .  She  caused  me  to  conduct  her  through 
the  rooms,  into  the  kitchen  and  store-chamber ;  made  me 
describe  all  my  arrangements,  and  lamented  only  that  she 
could  not  see  my  curtains,  "  which  report  said  were  so  espe- 
cially tasteful."  To  the  loss  we  had  suffered  she  made  no 
allusion ;  but  after  tea  she  said  suddenly  in  a  scolding  tone, 
"  Listen,  Lars  Anders :  what  stupid  nonsense  is  this  of  which 
people  talk  ?  They  say  you  are  intending  to  leave  Eosenvik  ! 
That  I  forbid ;  and  if  for  some  years  you  cannot  afford  to  pay 
the  rent,  you  shall  have  it  rent-free  ;  the  devil  fetch  me,  that 
shall  you !  I  will  hear  no  word  against  it ;  it  is  now  said 
and  determined." 

Bear,  with  his  horrible  independence,  resolved  to  say  much 
against  it ;  but  I  was  so  transported  with  Ma  chere  mere's 
words,  that  in  an  instant  I  kissed  her  cheek,  and  hands,  and 
dress.  This  weakened  Bear's  resistance  ;  so  that  he  merely 
muttered,  "  Too  much !  we  cannot  accept  what  we  cannot 
make  a  return  for."  But  Ma  chere  mere  interrupted  him 
warmly,  and  said,  while  she  held  me  on  her  knee, 

"  Grood  Lars  Anders,  don't  stand  there  and  mutter  like  a 
beetle  in  a  tub.  Too  little,  and  too  much,  spoils  all.  To  be 
independent,  and  a  churl  to  boot,  that's  all  very  well ;  but  to 
be  unwilling  to  accept  a  service  from  a  friend  is  pride,  and 
does  no  good.  Tou  have  had  a  loss  ; — that  was  no  fault  of 
yours.  Well  then,  you  need  not  be  ashamed  of  it.  Be  will- 
ing to  concede  a  little,  Lars  Anders,  and  adapt  yourself  to 
circumstances.  Every  one  must  do  that,  sooner  or  later:  to- 
day me ;  to-morrow  thee ; — but  that  which  is  offered  from  the 
heart  must  not  be  rejected.  Besides  this,  if  I  offer  you  a 
service,  my  friends,  I  offer  myself  one  at  the  same  time  ;  for 
I  like  to  have  you  for  neighbours — ^there  are  none  that  I 
like  so  well.  It  stands  as  I  have  said.  Hold  Eosenvik  for 
five  years  rent-free  ;  afterwards  you  may  pay  me  as  you  have 
done  before.    Better  times  will  soon  come  for  you,  my  chil- 

v2 


SOS 


THE  NEiaHBOUES. 


dren,  for  you  are  diligent  and  careful ;  and  after  storm  and 
rain,  Grod  causes  his  sun  to  shine.  Don't  be  headstrong^ 
Lars  Anders.  Ee  a  kind  man.  Look  at  your  wife  ;  she  is 
far  more  sensible  than  you.  Com.e  now,  and  kiss  my  hand, 
and  let  us  be  friends."  And  she  extended  her  hand  to  Bear, 
who,  half  grumbling  and  half  thankful  and  tender,  kissed  it 
and  shook  it.  The  affair  was  settled ;  was  no  further  spoken 
of;  and  Ma  chere  mere  drove  away  kuid  and  glad,  as  she 
came. 

I  was  so  perfectly  happy  to  have  my  Eosenvik  again,  and 
there  to  enjoy  the  spring,  with  its  flowers  and  birds,  that 
Bear  could  no  longer  hold  out  with  his  stubborn  love  of  inde-  I 
pendence,  but  became  happy  with  me.    So  then  there  shall  \ 
I  again  smell  my  roses,  gather  my  gooseberries,  eat  my  cauli- 
flowers, and  cultivate  my  garden.    All  that  is  divine ! 

November  14th. 

Tor  these  ten  days  I  have  given  music-lessons.  Serena,  to 
whom  I  conflded  my  position,  has  procured  me  four  pupils. 
They  come  in  the  forenoon,  while  Bear  is  absent ;  he  knows 
nothing  of  it,  and  will  in  time  wonder  how  it  is  that  the 
housekeeping  goes  on  so  well,  and  yet  how  little  the  money  in 
the  box  diminishes.  It  is  a  pleasure  to  do  this  for  a  man  who 
is  so  kind,  and  requires  so  little  :  in  opposite  circumstances  it 
would  be  a  pain.  The  music-lessons  go  forward — what  in- 
deed does  not  when  one  determines  it  shall  ? — but  agreeable 
they  certainly  are  not.  Three  of  my  scholars  are  very  slow 
*n  their  conceptions,  and  have  been  badly  taught  hitherto. 
I  do  all  that  is  possible  to  inspire  them.  We  thrash  through 
the  "  Bataille  de  Prague"  with  labour  and  pain.  The  fourth 
pujnl  is  a  clever  girl,  and  gives  me  pleasure. 

With  the  old  Dahls  I  come  continually  into  a  more  confi- 
dential relation  ;  in  Serena  I  have  the  best  and  most  amiable 
of  friends ;  Bear  is  so  kind.  Ah !  I  have  much  good  for 
which  I  ought  to  be  thankful,  and  yet  I  am  heavy  at  heart ; 
there  hangs  a  cloud  on  me  which  will  not  disperse.  I  am 
not  very  well  either  ;  it  is  so  dark  here  in  the  city ;  for  several 
weeks  there  has  been  a  perpetual  fog,  converted  only  now  and 
then  into  rain  ;  and  then,  I  have  certain  thoughts,  which  

I  should  like  to  know  what  Ma  chere  mere  would  say  to 
this  voice  uf  lamentation ;  probably — "  They  who  wish  to  sing 


FRVySTSKA  WEUXKR  TO  MARIA  M. 


809 


always  find  a  song."  Ma  chere  mere  plays  on  her  violin,  and 
is  cheerfnl  in  her  misfortune.  Would  that  I  were  but  only 
half  as  rational  as  she  ! 


CHAPTEE  XIX. 

W  ,  November  17th. 

"We  have  now  been  a  month  in  the  city.  This  fog,  this 
gloomy  season,  oppresses  the  spirits,  and  then  the  everlasting 
dirty  weather ;  one  cannot  get  a  mouthful  of  fresh  air ; 
everybody  has,  moreover,  colds  and  affections  of  the  chest ; 
and  Bear  is  so  busy  that  I  cannot  get  a  sight  of  him,  except 
at  dinner  and  late  in  the  evening.  The  old  Dahl  has  got  a 
fit  of  the  gout,  and  Serena  cannot  leave  him.  I  do  not  feel 
well  enough  to  go  out  often,  and  therefore  I  can  see  very 
little  of  her.  I  endeavour  to  employ  myself  busily  at  home, 
but  that  does  not  succeed  ;  I  have  just  been  trying  to  enliven 
myself  with  the  beautiful  "  Song  of  the  Sun,"  but  I  had  no 
voice.  Then  I  thought  I  would  write  a  little  poem,  but  could 
find  no  rhyme  to  "  heart,"  except  "  smart,"  and  that  put  mo 
into  a  weeping  mood ;  then  I  set  myself  to  sew  away  right  or 
wrong,  but  the  work  turned  out  neither  right  nor  wrong. 
At  last  I  placed  myself  at  the  window,  in  order,  amidst  the 
grinding  noise  of  wagons  and  the  pattering  of  the  eaves- 
drops, to  relate  to  you  my  bad  humours.  My  little  pupils 
also  oppress  me.  We  get  by  no  possibility  forward  with  the 
"  Bataille  de  Prague  ;"  we  must  try  something  else.  Bay,  do 
you  know  anything  more  wearying  than  the  eternal  dropping 
of  the  eaves  ? 

19th. 

I  wished  yesterday  to  see  Serena ;  I  needed  her  friendly 
countenance,  for  I  was  out  of  humour  with  many  things,  and 
especially  with  myself.  My  pupils  had  in  the  forenoon  so 
tried  me  that  I  wept  as  soon  as  I  was  alone.  At  dinner  the 
soup  was  smoked;  Bear  was  obliged  to  leave  me  the  moment 
dinner  was  over ;  everything  appeared  insupportable  ;  and  in 
order  to  drive  away  the  bad  humour,  I  set  off  under  the  um- 
brella, and  through  the  mud  to  the  Dahls.  I  found  them 
ialone.  The  little  family  was  assembled  in  the  sick-chamber 
of  the  old  gentleman.    He  sate  in  a  great  arm-chair,  his  foot 


BIO 


THE  KETGHBOXTES. 


wrapped  in  flannel.  Serena's  look  and  friendliness  would 
have  enlivened  me,  had  not  her  paleness  frightened  me,  and 
made  me  suspect  that  all  was  not  right  here.  Mr.  and 
Madame  Dahl  were  also  unusually  still  and  serious ;  yet  I 
saw  clearly  that  the  relation  between  the  old  people  and  their 
darling  was  as  entire  and  cordial  as  ever. 

After  tea,  Madame  Dahl  went  into  her  own  room,  and 
asked  me  to  accompany  her,  as  Serena  would  read  aloud  to 
her  grandpapa,  who  was  not  disposed  this  evening  for  much 
talk.  When  we  were  alone  together,  neither  would  any  con- 
versation move  on  properly  between  us ;  the  good  old  lady 
was  sunk  in  thought,  and  sighed  deeply.  I  inquired  tenderly 
into  the  cause,  and  soon  learned  it : — Bruno,  a  few  days  ago, 
had  sought  the  hand  of  Serena  from  her  grandparents. 

"  His  proposal  made  me  sorry,"  continued  Madame  Dahl, 
"  as  he  at  once  brought  forward  the  matter  in  so  warm  and 
manly  a  manner ;  for  I  have  always  been  much  concerned  for 
Bruno,  and  yet  we  could  not  from  many  causes  -think  of 
Bruno  as  the  husband  of  Serena,  at  least  not  yet,  while  we 
know  so  little  of  him.  There  were  strange  reports  about  him 
in  his  youth,  and  respecting  the  occasion  of  his  flight  from 
his  mother's  house.  One  has  for  many  years  heard  nothing 
of  him  ;  and  even  now  he  is  ambiguously  spoken  of,  especially 
as  regards  a  certain  woman  that  he  has  in  his  house.  My 
husband  is  strict  in  his  demands  of  honour  and  of  pure  repu- 
tation in  a  man,  and  if  any  one  has  a  right  to  require  these,  it 
is  certainly  he.  He  has,  as  well  as  myself,  a  great  esteem  for 
Bruno,  and  rejoices  sincerely  over  the  good  that  he  intends 
and  will  effect  here ;  but  he  does  not  wish  to  call  him  son. 
Serena  is  the  apple  of  his  eye — his  pride,  his  joy — therefore 
it  is  not  at  all  to  be  wondered  at,  that  he  will  not  give  her  to 
a  man  whose  life  and  character  are  covered  wich  darkness. 
He  therefore  received  Bruno's  proposal  coldly;  and  without 
absolutely  rejecting  it,  begged  him  at  present  to  think 
nothing  further  of  it;  spoke  of  the  future,  of  nearer  ac- 
quaintance, and  so  on ;  and  in  order  to  bring  the  not  very 
pleasant  conversation  to  a  friendly  termination,  added  sport- 
ively— "And  for  the  rest — when  we  read  in  the  Bible  that 
J acob  served  seven  years,  and  again  seven,  for  E-achel,  we 
cannot  think  it  unreasonable  to  wait  a  few  years  to  deserve 
a  damsel  who  certainly  is  better  and  handsomer  than  the 


FRAI^SISKA  WEUNEU  TO  MAEIA  M. 


311 


young  shepherdess  in  the  land  of  Mesopotamia.'  But  thia 
joke  about  Jacob  and  Eachel  did  not  seem  at  all  to  please 
Bruno.  He  took  his  hat  with  a  dark  glance,  bowed,  and  left 
us  without  a  word. 

"  When  he  was  gone,  we  felt  it  our  bounden  duty  to  make 
all  that  had  passed  known  to  Serena,  and  to  hear  what  she 
would  say.  We  did  so,  and  her  deep  agitation  of  mind 
strengthened  what  I  had  suspected,  and  what  she  herself 
cordially  confessed  in  reply  to  our  questions  ; — Serena  loves 
Bruno.  Already  as  a  child  she  conceived  a  fondness  for  him, 
and  this  is  now  become  love.  But  as  my  husband  laid  before 
Serena  the  reasons  which  had  induced  him  to  give  Bruno  an 
answer  so  little  encouraging,  she  confessed,  even  in  the  midst 
of  her  tears,  that  he  had  done  quite  right.  And  as  he  added, 
with  emotion,  that  his  grey  hairs  would  go  down  with  sorrow 
to  the  grave  if  she  united  herself  to  a  man  who  was  unworthy 
of  her,  and  that  even  now  he  could  have  no  peace  if  Serena 
were  so  bound  by  her  affections  that  she  could  not  feel  her- 
self happy  unless  in  marriage  with  him,  she  threw  her  arms 
round  his  neck,  and  begged  him  to  make  himself  easy ;  assur- 
ing us  that  she  loved  us  more  than  she  did  Bruno,  and  never 
would  dispose  of  her  hand  without  our  full  consent ;  that  she 
would  always  remain  with  us ;  and  said  such  affectionate 
things  to  us, — how  contented  she  was  with  her  condition,  how 
happy  our  tenderness  made  her,  and  so  on,  that  our  hearts 
became  much  lighter. 

"  Since  then  we  have  said  no  more  of  the  affair ;  but  Grod 
knows  how  it  is,  we  are  all  somewhat  out  of  tune,  I  look  at 
Serena,  and  see  that  her  heart  is  heavy,  though  she  shows 
herself  always  so  kindly  towards  us.  My  husband  put  a  re- 
straint on  himself  in  the  interview  of  that  day,  and  the  gout 
has  through  that  become  worse.  Of  Bruno,  too,  who  before 
was  here  so  frequently,  nobody  has  heard  a  word ;  perhaps 
he  has  taken  the  refusal  so  ill  that  he  will  set  off  again  to  the 
West  Indies." 

"  Then  let  him  go,"  said  I;  "then  he  is  not  worthy  of 
Serena.  In  truth,  I  must  say  with  Mr.  Dahl,  that  she  is  a 
maiden  who  deserves  to  be  served  for  and  waited  for ;  but 
methinks  that  seven  years,  and  again  seven  years,  may  be  a 
little  too  much  m  these  days,  when  men  do  not  live  haii 
as  long  as  the  patriarchs.'* 


.^12 


THE  NETOn7?OFllS. 


Madame  Dahl  laughed  and  said,  "  You  have  always  a 
lively  word,  my  little  Eransiska.  All !  well,  I  myself  have 
thought  so  too,  and  said  so  ;  but  my  husband,  in  everything 
so  wise  and  excellent,  is  somewhat  obstinate  in  matters  of 
marriage ;  and,  beyond  this,  it  by  no  means  pleases  him 
when  any  one  asks  the  hand  of  Serena.  Ah,  Fransiska !  I 
have  often  thought  and  suspected  that  in  our  tenderness  of 
Serena  we  probably  mingle  no  little  selfishness,  and  that  we 
perhaps  are  as  much  afraid  of  losing  by  her  marriage  her 
careful  attentions  and  society,  as  that  she  should  not  be 
happy  in  her  wedded  life.  I  have  had  some  trouble,"  added 
she  with  a  sigh,  "  to  make  this  right  clear  to  myself.  Ah  ! 
life  is  a  conflict  to  the  grave.  The  old  have  probably  as 
great,  and  even  still  more  powerful  temptations  to  withstand 
than  the  young.  The  blood  is  so  sluggish,  the  feelings  be- 
come so  numb ;  the  cold  which  creeps  into  the  body  will 
insinuate  itself  into  the  soul..  We  feel  that  we  need  much 
help,  and  begin  to  make  demands  on  others  ;  we  have  many 
little  complaints,  and  through  them  we  too  easily  forget  to 
sympathise  in  the  sufferings  and  enjoyments  of  others.  In 
fact,  these  are  heavy  temptations,  and  had  we  not  the  Gospel, 
I  feel  persuaded  that  we  must  sink ;  and  probably  we  suffer 
ourselves  to  become  more  fettered  than  we  are  aware  of." 

During  our  conversation  the  clock  had  struck  nine. 
Madame  Dahl  and  I  ate  a  light  supper ;  Serena  remained 
with  her  grandfather.  After  supper  we  went  to  hinx  also, 
in  order  to  attend  the  evening  prayers,  which  for  fifty  years 
have  been  held  every  evening  in  the  house.  As  I  approached 
the  door,  I  heard  Serena  reading  aloud.  "  Heavens  !" 
thought  I,  "  she  surely  cannot  have  been  reading  aloud  the 
whole  time  since  we  left  them."  We  entered  ;  the  reading 
ceased ;  the  servants  assembled  in  the  room,  and  the  old 
Dahl  read  with  dignity  and  devotion  the  short  but  beautiful 
Evening  Prayer.  As  this  ended,  the  inmates  and  servants 
of  tlie  house  gave  each  other  the  hand,  with  a  friendly  "  Good 
night."  The  whole  was  a  peaceful  scene,  which  did  the 
heart  good. 

When  we  were  again  alone,  I  observed  that  Serena  looked 
w'eary.  She  coughed  sometimes,  and  the  cough  did  not  at 
all  jjlease  me  ;  but  as  I  looked  at  her  with  an  inquisitive 
uneaainesa,  she  smiled  at  me  so  kindly  and  cheerfully,  as  ii 


FRANSISKA  WERNER  TO  MARIA  M. 


313 


she  would  remove  from  me  this  impression.  When  1  waa 
taking  leave,  and  wished  the  old  Dahl  a  good  night's  sleep, 
ne  said,  "  Sleep  has  not  been  for  some  time  my  friend  ;  but 
T  am  happy  enough  to  have  a  little  Scheherazade  by  my  couch, 
who  shortens  a  part  of  the  night  for  me  through  her  pleasant 
histories  ;  and  that  has  she  done  for  probably  more  than  *  a 
thousand  and  one  nights.'  But  perhaps  thou  art  tired  to- 
night, my  good  maiden,"  added  he,  as  he  looked  at  Serena. 

"  0,  I  can  very  well  read  a  little  longer,"  she  replied 
zealously. 

I  was  about  to  put  in  my  opposition,  by  a  remark  on  the 
weariness  of  Serena's  look;  but  at  my  first  "  But,"  Serena 
laid  her  hand  instantly  on  mine,  so  pre s singly,  so  forbiddingly, 
that  I  closed  my  mouth  again.  When  she  accompanied  me 
out,  "  Serena,"  said  I,  in  a  tone  of  reproof,  "  why  didst 
thou  not  tell  thy  grandfather  the  truth  ?  Thou  art  weary  ; 
— I  see  it.  Dost  thou  think  that  he  can  be  satisfied  that  to 
entertain  him  thou  shouldst  read  thyself  to  death  ?  This  is 
wrong  ;  it  is  unreasonable." 

"  Hush !  hush !  thou  very  reasonable  creature !"  said 
Serena  smiling,  and  caressing  me,  while  a  tear  gleamed  in 
her  eye.  "  Let  me  to-day  follow  my  understanding  ;  another 
time  I  will  follow  thine.  Grrandfather  is  not  well,  and  to- 
day he  is  extremely  out  of  spirits  ;  and  if  he  imagined  that 
I  was  not  well,  he  would  be  very  uneasy.  I  am  not  at  all 
unwell ;  I  am  only  a  little  tired ;  I  shall  be  all  right  again 
presently,  like  a  winter  moon." 

"  Then  thou  must  very  soon  call  on  me,  for  my  spirits  have 
been  for  some  time  regularly  declining." 

"  Ah  !  I  suspected  so.  What  is  it,  Fanny  ?  My  dear 
Fanny,  what  is  it  that  oppresses  thee  so  ?  Sit  down ;  let  me 
take  off  your  boa.    Let  me  know,  now  " 

"  No,  no,  Serena,  not  now  !  But  come  soon  to  me,  Serena." 

"  As  soon  as  ever  it  is  possible  to  me." 

Dahls'  servant  accompanied  me  home  with  a  lantern.  It 
rained,  and  heavy  as  the  rain- drops  fell  my  thoughts.  "  Shall 
Serena" — so  they  ran — "  wither  in  her  youth,  because  she 
has  endeared  herself  to  the  old  people,  and  has  made  herself  so 
indispensable  to  them?  I  wish  that  she  was  carried  ofi*! — 
otherwise  she  will  be  utterly  bewitched  with  this  readir.g. 
Bruno  would  be  just  the  man  for  such  an  exploit — but  Bruno 


314 


THK  KEiaHBOtJES. 


■ — this  unquiet  and  not  pure  spirit — could  he  make  her  happy  ? 
Would  not  this  be  to  fall  out  of  the  ashes  into  the  fire  ?  My 
poor,  dear  Serena !  Like  the  water-lily  thou  seemest  destined, 
now  to  float  on  stilly  and  now  on  stormy  waves,  and  only  to 
live  as  the  ornament  or  the  prey  of  them." 

22nd. 

Tet  the  water-lily  has  its  own  root,  although  this  lies  hidden 
in  the  deep  ;  and  although  its  blossoms  allow  themselves  to 
be  rocked  by  the  waves,  yet  it  has  its  own  firm  eye-mark — 
Heaven !  And  now  from  the  blossom  of  the  water  to  the 
blossom  of  the  valley — to  Serena.  To-day  in  the  cold  dark 
morning  she  surprised  me,  and  I  confess  it — surprised  me  in 
tears.  I  was  ashamed  of  myself;  and  to  her  affectionate 
caresses  and  questions,  could  only  say — "  Don't  trouble  thy- 
self about  me,  Serena!  I  am  to-day  rather  weak.  Thou 
shouldst  have  come  another  day ;  to-day  I  am  stupidly 
childish.'' 

"  No,  to-day  is  the  right  day,"  replied  Serena,  with  zealous 
cordiality.  "It  is  exactly  to-day  that  it  pleases  me  to  be 
here.  I  have  had  no  rest  since  I  saw  thee  last.  Thou 
spakest  so  sorrowfully,  so  unlike  thyself.  And  now  I  am 
here,  and  shall  not  go  away  till  thou  hast  told  me  what  it  is 
that  lies  so  heavy  on  thy  mind." 

"  Guard  thyself  from  reprisals,  Serena!" 

"  Ah !  thou  art  ready  to  do  battle,  I  hear.  Well,  that 
makes  me  easier.  See,  thou  laughest !  Grod  be  praised,  now 
all  will  go  well !    But  tell  me,  dear  Fanny,  tell  me  " 

We  got  into  the  great  easy-chair  together ;  we  gossiped, 
we  wept,  we  laughed  together,  and  Serena's  tenderness  and 
eensible  words  lightened  my  heart  materially.  But  as  I 
began  to  be  more  composed  in  myself,  I  began  also  to  make 
assault  upon  her,  and  said — "  Now  comes  the  turn  to  thee, 
Serena !  Now  must  thou  also  confess.  No,  no,  thou  canst 
not  creep  out ;  thou  shalt  not  leave  me  till  thou  hast  ex- 
plained this  riddle.  Thou  comest  to-day  to  me ;  speakest 
with  me,  of  me,  as  if  there  was  nothing  else  in  the  world  be- 
sides to  talk  of.  Thou  hast  something  in  thy  look  which 
seems  to  say  that  eternal  peace  dwells  in  thy  soul.  Tell  me, 
;;an  it  be  so  ?    I  know  that  Bruno  has  asked  thy  hand.  I 


FRANSISKA  WEK^fEU  TO  MARIA  M. 


815 


know  too,  that  if  it  has  not  been  actually  refused  him,  it  haa 
been  shown  to  him  in  that  distant  and  doubtful  perspective 
which  makes  it  very  unlikely  that  he  will  obtain  it.  I  know 
too,  that  this  has  wounded  him  deeply, — can  all  this  be  in- 
different to  thee  ?" 

"JS'o,  not  indifferent!"    It  seemed  to  be  painful  to 

Serena  to  speak  on  this  subject. 

"  Dearest  Serena!"  I  exclaimed,  "pardon  me,  I  see  that  I 
teaze  thee,  but  this  time  thou  must  let  me  see  into  thy  heart. 
I  know  that  Bruno  loves  thee  extremely ;  thou,  thyself,  hast 
confessed  what  thou  feelest  for  him  ;  canst  thou  renounce 
him  without  pain  ?" 

"  No,  not  without  pain,  ^but  yet  without  much  suf- 
fering." 

"Dost  thou  not  deceive  thyself?  Thou  sayest  now — *I 
do  not  suffer,'  and  art  yet  so  pale.  Thou  wilt  die  one  day 
while  thou  art  saying — '  I  do  not  die  !'  " 

Serena  smiled  sorrowfully,  while  she  blushed,  and  said: 
"  'No,  Eanny !  of  this  trouble  I  shall  not  die.  I  have  proved 
myself,  and  I  know  that  I  can  bear  it.  In  a  while  I  shall  be 
no  longer  pale;  I  shall  become  again  quite  composed  and 
strong.  My  parents  have  explained  to  me  the  reasons  which 
have  influenced  them  not  to  comply  with  Bruno's  wishes ; 
and  I  see  that  they  are  right,  and  that  they  cannot  possibly 
think  otherwise.  On  that  account  I  have  compelled  my  own 
inclinations  to  silence ;  yes,  I  have  laid  aside  all  thoughts  of 
a  union  with  Bruno.  I  will  live  only  for  my  parents.  So 
long  as  they  love  me,  and  through  my  attentions  are  rendered 
happy,  I  cannot  feel  unhappy  myself." 

"  Is,  then,  thy  sense  of  duty  so  strong,  is  thy  tenderness 
for  them  so  sufficing  for  thy  own  heart ;  is  it  able  to  drown 
every  wish,  every  bitter  yearning,  which,  if  thou  lovest,  tliou 
must  still  feel  ?" 

"  Yes,  if  not  indeed  always,  yet  is  it  so  on  the  whole.  Seest 
thou,  Fanny,  in  the  daytime  there  may  come  some  impa- 
tience, some  yearning,  some  '  Ah !'  as  thou  callest  it,  and 
disquieten  the  heart ;  but  when  the  day  is  over,  and  I  can 
retire  to  rest,  and  say  to  myself  that  those  who  tenderly 
cherished  my  childhood  have  during  the  day  enjoyed  comfort 
and  pleasure  through  me,  and  think  that  they  now  rest  in 


316 


THE  NETGHBOUBS. 


peace  and  bless  their  child ; — then,  Eannj,  it  becomes  all  sc 
quiet,  so  well  about  my  heart,  that  I  silence  any  *  Ah !'  ana 
am  contented  and  grateful  for  my  lot." 

"  If  thy  parents  yet  live  ten  or  twenty  years  ?  Every  year 
they  will  require  more  indispensably  thy  care, — and  then  this 

reading  Serena,  thou  wilt  wither  away  before  thy  time, 

and  become  old  in  thy  best  years !" 

"  And  if  the  cheeks  wrinkle,  and  the  eyes  grow  dim,  what 
then,  dear  Fanny,  if  we  have  but  won  the  satisfaction  of  the 
heart  ?  I  have  reflected  on  the  future,  of  which  thou  speak- 
est,  and  fear  it  not.  If  parents  are  not  kind  and  worthy  of 
respect,  it  may  be  hard,  very  hard,  to  live  entirely  for  them  ; 
and  this  may  with  truth  be  styled  a  sacrifice.  But  how  diffe- 
rent is  it  in  this  case  for  me ;  and  how  many  charms  has  my 
life  which  nobody  is  aware  of.  Do  I  express  a  wish  which 
my  parents  do  not  hasten  to  satisfy  ?  How  many  great  plea- 
sures do  not  their  kindness  and  generosity  confer  on  me  ? 
In  fact,  to  live  for  such  kind  and  venerable  parents  is  a  beau- 
tiful and  noble  lot." 

"Thou  speakest  right  well  and  eloquently,  Serena,"  said  I, 
somewhat  piqued  ;  "  and  no  one  can  admire  thy  parents  more 
than  I  do ;  but  I  cannot  away  with  it  that  they  can  never 
endure  thy  suitors ;  that  they  always  oppose  themselves  to 
thy  marrying ;  and  I  would  ask  whether  a  good  portion  of 
selfishness  does  not  lie  in  that.  They  will  not  give  thee  to 
any  other  because  they  will  keep  thee  for  themselves,  that 
thou  mayst  nurse  them,  read  to  them,  and  sing  to  them, 
till  " 

"Fransiska!"  interrupted  me  Serena  with  an  expression  of 
terror,  "  say  not  so.  Are  they  not  such  thoughts  which 
awaken  bitterness  in  the  heart,  and  cripple  all  our  power  to 
do  good.  My  dear  Fanny,  these  ideas  must,  with  all  our 
might,  be  banished  as  evil  tempters.  For  the  rest, — if  parents 
will  have  some  return  for  all  that  they  have  sacrificed ;  if  they 
wiU  not  be  forsaken  in  tlieir  old  age,  and  will  retain  near  them 
the  child  they  have  cherished  and  brought  up,  is  that  any- 
thing to  wonder  at — is  it  anything  but  reasonable  ?  Ah,  1 
would  appeal  to  all  whose  situation  resembles  mine,  and  say, 
*  Let  us  remember  this,  and  love  the  fulfilment  of  our  filiaJ 
duty.' 

"  And  when  these  duties  cease  ;  when  thv  carents  are  gone 


FRANSISKA  WEENER  TO  MARIA  M. 


317 


and  gone,  too,  the  best  portion  of  thy  existence,  will  not  lue 
appear  empty  to  thee  ?  Thou  hast  for  their  sakes  separated 
thyself  from  thy  young  companions,  and  their  interests  ;  thou 
hast  gone  out  of  the  joyful  and  stirring  track  of  life,  in  order 
to  accompany  the  dying,  and  to  smoothen  his  course  ;  and  now 
standest  thou  suddenly  in  solitude.  Will  not  thy  soul  also 
have  become  a  nun,  which  sees  in  the  world  a  desert,  and 
returns  mute  into  its  chill  cloister?" 

"  I  do  not  believe  it,"  said  Serena,  as  she  looked  up.  A 
tear  glittered  in  her  eye ;  her  bosom  rose,  as  though  it  would 
fling  from  it  a  weight ;  and  she  continued :  "  Life  is  rich  and 
beautiful.  God's  goodness  is  inexhaustible  ;  why  then  should 
our  hearts  cease  to  receive  it  ?  "Why  should  they  wdther 
aw'ay  so  long  as  there  flow  rich  wells  of  enjoyment  ?  If  they 
do,  it  must  be  their  own  fault.  They  contract  themselves  ; 
they  close  themselves  ;  they  will  not  expand  in  order  to  rejoice 
in  the  joy  of  others,  to  admire  the  beauty  of  the  world.  Ah ! 
that  is  poverty  of  soul.  My  dear  Fanny,  I  desire  it  not.  I 
will  keep  my  soul  open  ;  spring,  and  friendship,  and  song,  live 
perpetually  on  the  earth.  Heavy  and  woful  times  may  come, 
but  they  must  go  again ;  and  even  while  they  last,  shall  we  no 
longer  look  at  the  sunshine  which  falls  on  our  lives,  as  on  that 
which  is  turned  away  from  it  ?  And  exactly  on  this  account, 
best  Fanny,  lest  us  say  no  more  of  that  which  oppresses  me. 
Let  me  now  enjoy  the  sun  which  greets  us  after  so  many 
gloomy  days.  See  how  beautifully  it  lies  on  the  green  table- 
cover."  And  she  laid  her  fair  hand  in  the  sunshine,  as  if 
caressing  it.  "  Let  us  now  be  happy  on  thy  account,  and 
since  I  see  that  thou  lovest  me  as  I  do  thee."  And  with 
silent  tears  on  her  glowing  countenance,  Serena  embraced 
me,  and  leaned  her  head  against  my  shoulder. 

"But  Bruno,  Serena?  But  Bruno?"  I  was  like  the 
devil ;  I  would  let  her  have  no  rest.  "  Whilst  thou  consolest 
thyself  and  enjoyest  life,  he  who  does  not  possess  thy  forti- 
tude will  be  solitary  and  miserable." 

Scarcely  had  I  pronounced  these  words,  when  I  repented 
them.  The  happy  glow  which  illumined  Serena's  brow  was 
suddenly  extinguished  ;  a  cloud,  a  trouble,  passed  over  it ;  but 
she  collected  herself,  and  said  with  a  quiet  sincerity,  "  ISTo, 
Fanny,  no.  Bruno  will  not  be  unhaopy.  No,  he  also  will 
Ecquii'e  peace." 


31S 


THE  NEIOHBOTJRS. 


"  And  how  .....  And  whence  is  thia  certaijity  ?'*  de* 
manded  I,  in  astonishment. 

"  Ah  !  I  know  how  it  will  come  to  pass  ...  I  have  a  pre- 
sentiment, a  faith  which  cannot  deceive  me.  Seest  thou, 
there  will  pass  over  a  time ;  it  will  not  be  joyful,  but  it  will 
pass  over,  and  then  Bruno  will  come  again.  Then  it  will  be  as 
in  my  childhood,  and  in  my  first  youth; — ^we  shaU  be  aa 
brother  and  sister ;  and  this  bond  will  make  us  both  happy. 
Bruno  will  choose  himself  another  wife,  but  I  shall  always 
remain  his  friend,  his  sister.  Thou  shalt  see  that  it  will  be 
so.  My  parents,  Bruno,  and  thee, — to  love  and  to  live  for  you^ 
— O  Fanny  !  how  good  is  Grod !" 

The  bears  on  Spitzbergen  did  not  fall  with  such  fury  on 
the  huts  of  the  sailors,  as  my  Bear  now  on  the  haU.  door.  It 
was  noon,  and  Serena  was  obliged  to  hasten  away  home.  I 
was  absent  during  dinner,  and  had  to  endure  Bear's  raiUery 
on  that  account;  in  order  to  reconcile  him,  I  ordered  a 
super-excellent  cup  of  coffee,  and  while  he  drank  it,  I  sate 
down  to  play  an  air  to  the  poem  which  I  had  composed  dui'ing 
dinner,  and  which  I  now  send  you. 

THE  WATER-LILY. 

From  the  clear  water  springeth 

A  white  and  lovely  flower, 
Beholds  the  sun,  and  bringeth 

Its  homage  to  his  power. 

At  once  its  eye  it  turneth 

Aloft  in  truth  and  love ; 
An  offering  pure  it  burneth, 

To  its  high  God  above. 

Over  the  deeps  it  hovers, 

Like  angels'  prayers  so  sweet ; 
No  restless  wish  discovers — 

Love  is  its  bliss  complete. 

When  howl  the  tempests  chilly, 

And  heavy  drench  the  rains, 
Still  calmly  waves  the  lily 

Upon  the  billowy  plams. 

Nor  from  the  station  flieth 

Where  God  its  head  did  raise  5 
Heaven  patiently  it  ey«th, 

And  hopes  for  better  dAjs. 


FaASSISKA  TOENER  TO  MAEIA  M. 


Away  tlie  storms  are  winging; 

The  purple  evening  round 
Sheds  pearls ;  and  softly  ringing 

The  hajps  of  ocean  souQd. 

In  the  sea's  silver  dwelling, 

The  Neck  his  song  doth  raise 
Unto  the  lily,  telling 

Of  love  which  ne'er  decays. 

"  Come,  and  behold  all  wonder. 

Which  fills  the  deep,  deep  sea ; 
In  meads  of  rose  far  under, 

I'll  sing  alone  to  thee. 

"  Come  down  to  the  woodlands  dreamy. 
To  the  house  with  its  pearly  dome ; 

Come  with  sun -rays  beamy. 
Love  calls  thee  to  thy  home." 

But  the  snow- pure  lily,  throwing 

Its  glance  to  heaven  high, 
In  the  world  of  light  yet  glowing, 

Gives  the  singer  this  reply. 

"  He  who  for  my  love  pineth, 

Must  haste  aloft  to  me ; 
Alone  where  God's  sun  shineth, 

Can  I  belong  to  thee. 

*'  Come,  Poet-Prince  of  Ocean, 

Here  all  is  warm  and  bright, 
View  heaven  with  deep  devotion 

And  sing  of  love  and  light." 

The  dream  is  flown !    The  Necken 

Sinks  down  to  deepest  gloom ; 
Him  joy  no  more  shall  waken, 

But  hopeless  love  consume. 

The  same !  and  ever  the  same !  makes  life  wearisome, 
especially  when  this  monotony  consists  of  everlasting  foggy 
and  dirty  weather.  Nothing  prospers  in  this  atmosphere 
except  illness.  I  see  Bear  scarcely  an  hour  per  day ;  and 
yet  his  friendly  look  is  as  necessary  for  me  as  the  sun.  He 
is  now  in  the  highest  degree  uneasy  on  account  of  one  of  his 
patients,  the  esteemed  father  of  a  family,  and  will  watch  to- 
night by  him.  How  different  can  life  appear  at  different 
times  !    At  times  so  sportive,  or  clear  and  There  felJ 


82U 


THE  NEiaHBOURS. 


a  poor  woman  m  tne  street  and  spoiled  her  cloak  ;  there  the 
wind  turns  a  gentleman's  umbrella  inside  out.  There  wag 
a  damsel  covered  with  mud  by  a  chaise  hurrying  past.  All 
three  looked  quite  wretched.  The  little  sparrows  twitter  : 
I  wish  I  was  a  sparrow ! 

28th. 

Bear  is  full  of  trouble.  The  father  of  the  family  is  dead. 
He  was  a  man  in  his  best  years,  and  has  left  behind  him  a 
widow  with  seven  children,  of  whom  the  greater  number  are 
small.  Their  only  means  of  support  was  the  earnings  of  the 
father.  They  are  but  recently  come  hither,  and  have  neither 
relations  nor  acquaintance  who  can  help  them.  The  poor 
little  things !  it  cuts  me  to  the  heart  when  I  think  of  them. 

"  Hast  thou  nothing  black  that  might  serve  for  mourning 
for  those  little  ones  ?" 

"  Grod  help  us.  Bear  !  to  me  everything  looks  black  !  even 
this  red  cloth  here.  Thou  sayest  Serena  was  there.  How 
did  she  look  ?" 

"  Priendly  and  kind  as  an  angel  of  comfort." 

"  Good  Serena !" 

Bruno  ;  one  hears  nothing  of  him.  Perhaps  his  wretched 
pride  is  so  thoroughly  wounded  that  he  gives  up  all  thoughts 
of  Serena.  If  he  do,  he  will  fall  in  my  esteem.  And  Serena  ? 
Is  she  really  as  strong  as  she  would  represent  ?  Will  not 
this  love,  this  pain,  gnaw  at  her  life  like  a  concealed  worm  ? 
Everything  seems  to  me  sorrowful.  I  see  Serena  grow  pale ; 
Bruno  grow  gloomy  ;  I  think  on  the  fatherless  children,  who 
need  food  and  comfort ;  Ma  chere  mere  sits  in  darkness ; 
Bear  is  distressed,  and  I  

Ah !  so  many  things  in  this  life  give  us  only  a  glimpse  of 
themselves,  but  come  no  further  ;  so  many  a  day  dawns,  but 
never  becomes  clear  ;  so  many  things  are  begun,  but  are 
never  ended;  so  that  contemplating  this,  one  should  be 
ready  to  let  one's  hands  fall  into  utter  discouragement,  if  it 
were  not  for  the  consoling  thought,  "  This  is  but  the  Be- 
ginning !" 


FEANSISKA  WEENER  TO  MAEIA  M. 


321 


CHAPTEE  XX. 

\V  ,  December  4  th 

YoTJ  tell  me,  Maria,  that  I  appear  bo  longer  like  1113' self. 
You  find  something  so  desponding  and  sad  in  my  letters ; 
you  inquire  what  is  the  cause.  I  cannot  resist  your  soft  and 
affectionate  words,  and  will  tell  you  all,  though  you  should 
find  me  very  strange  and  childish. 

It  is  true  that  I  have  for  some  time  taken  a  very  discourag- 
ing view  of  life.  I  have  nob  found  myself  well  in  either  mind 
or  body,  and  felt  no  pleasure  in  existence.  Ah,  Maria !  I  feel 
that  I  am  a  mother,  and  this  feeling  oppresses  me.  It  has 
awakened  a  world  of  strange  and  anxious  thoughts.  I  have 
looked  forth  as  with  a  newly  acquired  sense  into  the  world, 
and  I  have  discovered  there  a  thousand  dangers  and  sufferings 
upon  which  I  had  never  before  reflected,  and  which  all  seem 
to  threaten  my  child.  Every  step  in  life  seems  to  be  encom- 
passed with  snares  and  misfortunes.  To  learn  to  walk,  to  read, 
to  think,  to  accommodate  itself  to  the  circumstances  of  life, 
— how  hard,  how  wearisome !  And  then  all  the  troubles, 
from  the  first  pains  of  teething  to  the  last  pains  of  death !  all 
dangers  of  body  and  soul ;  falls  down  steps,  into  love,  and 
sin,  etc. ;  how  fearfully,  how  sorrowfully  have  these  shapes 
of  night  started  up  in  my  soul :  and  I  could  not  say  to  them, 
"  Avaunt,  deceitful  phantoms!"  because  I  looked  around  in 
life  and  saw  that  they  are  actually  the  daily  guests  in  the 
dwellings  of  men.  And  as  I  became  sensible  of  this,  and  the 
heaven  looked  down  upon  me  so  gloomy  and  cloudy,  then, 
Maria,  I  trembled  that  my  child  should  see  the  light,  and 
yearned  to  hide  it  from  the  world  and  from  suffering. 

In  part  I  have  been  happy  enough  to  overcome  these  sickly 
and  painful  feelings  ;  but  the  worst  of  all,  and  that  which  op- 
presses me  unceasingly,  is,  that  I  fear  my  child  will  not  be 
welcome  to  my  husband.  I  fancy  that  I  can  perceive  it  by 
many  signs.  He  never  speaks  of  children ;  never  expresses  a 
wish  for  them  ;  and  once,  when  the  conversation  was  of  some 
one  who  had  a  great  family,  he  threw  a  quick  glance  on  me, 
as  if  to  say,  "  Thou  really  wilt  not  have  such  an  one  ?"  Ah, 
Maria,  and  immediately  this  becomes  probable !    Bear  knoA^  s 

X 


^22 


THE  NEIGHBOURS. 


nothing  of  it.  yet  I  think  he  must  suspect ;  but  it  is  ex- 
actly this  that  he  does  not  know  of  it,  which  takes  from  mo 
all  courage  to  discover  it  to  him.  Ah  !  I  must  also  confess:, 
that  my  unsettled  state  of  mind  has  made  me  during  this  time 
less  friendly  towards  him.  I  have  in  some  degree  avoided 
him  ;  I  have  withdrawn  myself  when  he  has  tenderly  put  his 
arm  round  me.  I  have  seen  that  it  grieved  him,  and  yet  I 
could  not  alter  my  behaviour.  Yet  I  have  myself  had,  how- 
ever, the  most  to  endure.  Bear  is  no  longer  young ;  he 
loves  undisturbed  quiet  at  home  ;  and  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  ' 
at  that  he  should  dislike  the  crying  and  noise  of  children,  and 
all  the  trouble  which  they  occasion.  And  then — after  the  loss 
of  his  property,  it  must  be  oppressive  to  him  to  have  new  ex- 
penses, new  cares  to  support,  which  instead  of  decreasing, 
continually  increase.  And  if  I  should  have  two  girls  at 
once,  and  then,  according  to  Stellan's  prophecy,  eight  in 
addition,  what  will  he  think  ?  How  will  he  be  satisfied  with 
it?  Tou  cannot  tell,  Maria,  how  these  thoughts  weighed 
me  down ! 

My  poor  little  maiden !  it  is  not  enough  that  many  a 
suffering,  many  a  bitter  experience  must  be  thy  lot  in  the 
w^orld,  but  probably  thy  father  will  not  once  welcome  thee 
into  life  with  a  smile  ;  perhaps  he  will  press  thee  with  a 
secret  sigh  to  his  bosom.  And  if  thou  shouldst  lose  th} 
mother  early,  perhaps  even  at  thy  birth — for  how  man} 
women  die  in  giving  life  to  their  children,  and  I  am  not 
strong — who  then,  my  little  maiden,  will  sit  fondly  by  thy 
cradle  ?  Who  will  soothe  thy  disquiet  into  peace  ?  Who 
will,  later,  comfort  thee  in  difficulties  ?  Who  will  love  thee, 
and  teach  thee  to  conduct  thyself  ?  Where  wilt  thou  find 
ever-open  arms  ?    My  tears  flow,  and  I  must  conclude. 

5th. 

But  now  I  dry  up  my  tears,  and  proceed.  Last  evening  I  ^ 
sate  alone,  and  worked  at  a  little  child's  cap.  My  heart  was 
heavy,  and  my  unshed  tears  choked  me.  Bear  was  not  come 
home.  The  wind  blew  strongly  without,  and  sounded  dis- 
agreeably to  me.  It  also  occasioned  that  I  did  not  hear 
Bear's  arrival  before  he  opened,  as  usual,  abruptly  the  door 
of  the  room  where  I  sate.  I  hastily  threw  my  work  under  a 
shawl,  blushed,  and  had  scarcely  time  to  bid  him  good 


FBANSISKA  WERNER  TO  MARIA  M. 


323 


evening.  Bear  looked  unwontedly  cheerful,  and  exclaimed 
ioudly,  "  Grood  evening  my  little  wife,  how  is  it  with  thee 

"  Yery  well,"  answered  I :  and  in  order  to  ward  of  further 
questions,  asked  myself — "  "What  hast  thou  in  thy  hand 
there  ?" 

"  Only  an  ugly  pasteboard  box.  An  old  woman  bothered 
me  to  buy  it.  We  will  see  if  thou  canst  make  it  of  any  use 
to  hold  thy  combs,  hair  pins,  and  so  on.  He  set  the  great 
pretended  box  on  the  table,  loosened  the  cloth  in  which  it 
was  wrapped  with  a  horrible  grimace,  and  before  my  eyes  lay 
a  picture  in  a  costly  gold  frame.  Two  figures,  as  it  were, 
stood  living  before  me  in  it.  The  most  beautiful  Mother-of- 
God  hovered  on  the  clouds,  with  the  Child- Grod  on  her  arm. 
It  was  a  copy  of  Eaphael's  Madonna  Sistina,  in  black  chalk, 
by  the  clever  Miss  Eohl.  I  saw  the  heavenly  peace  in 
Mary's  countenance;  I  saw  the  divine,  all-illuminating 
glance  of  the  Child,  and  I  became  so  comfortable,  so  heavenly 
comfortable  in  my  mind,  I  could  not  speak,  and  without 
being  aware  of  it,  ran  sweet  happy  tears  on  the  glass  of  the 
picture.  I  had  forgotten  all  around  me  ;  I  knew  not  whether 
1  was  on  earth  or  in  heaven,  when  I  found  myself  encircled 
by  Bear's  arms,  and  heard  him  say  with  a  tender,  but  affec- 
tionately upbraiding  voice — "  Fanny,  why  should  I  not  know 
that  I  am  a  father  ?" 

In  this  moment  I  became  violently  affected.  I  hid  my 
head  on  his  shoulder,  and  could  scarcely  stammer  forth,  "  O 
Bear  !  I  was  afraid  that  you  would  not  be  pleased !" 

My  Maria  !  how  did  I  feel  as  I  saw  Bear  drop  on  his  knees 
before  me,  as  he  kissed  my  hands,  my  dress,  while  with  great 
tears  in  his  eyes,  and  with  a  faltering  voice,  he  exclaimed — 
"  I  not  pleased  ?  I  not  happy  ?  I  am  delighted !  My 
Fanny,  my  wife,  my  child  !"  In  such  emotion  I  had  never 
seen  him,  and  my  heart  dissolved  itself  in  inexpressible  love 
and  joy. 

This  hour  was  beautiful,  was  divine  !  But  one  such  in  this 
earthly  life,  and  one  may  be  contented  ;  one  has  understood 
what  heaven  is. 

After  our  first  extreme  agitation  had  subsided.  Bear  seated 
himself  by  me,  and  lectured  me,  half  in  a  tender  and  sportive 
and  half  in  a  serious  tone,  on  my  strange  secrecy.  My  heart 
was  open ;  I  let  him  read  it ;  I  let  him  see  all  which  of  lato 

x2 


THE  NEIGHBOTJES. 


had  been  working  there.  At  first  he  smiled,  then  he  became 
more  serious,  and  at  last  he  said,  somewhat  out  of  humour 

But  that  is  very  silly,  Tanny  !  Where  has  been  thy  reliance 
on  the  Most  High  ?  Does  this  miserable  fear  become  those 
who  believe  in  Him  and  His  goodness  ?" 

"Ah  !"  I  said  sighing,  "  I  believe  firmly  on  Him,  and  yet 
children  fall  down  stairs  or  out  of  the  window,  and  become 
cripples  or  idiots  for  life." 

"  Well,  and  what  then  ?"  said  Bear,  and  looked  me  in  the 
face  with  a  glance  which  at  once  was  firm  and  clear  ; — I  did 
not  imagine  he  could  have  made  his  eyes  so  large.  I  cast 
my  eyes  down,  and  answered  softly — "  And  children  may  also 
become  unfortunate." 

"Well,  and  what  then?"  exclaimed  Bear,  and  looked  at 
me  as  before. 

"And  what  then!  and  what  then!"  I  cried  impatiently, 
and  was  very  near  getting  angry  ;  but  Bear's  look  again  struck 
me,  and  penetrated  into  my  inmost  soul.  I  understood  him 
now — understood  his  manly  strength,  his  love,  and  piety. 
"  Bear,"  said  I  with  contrition,  "  I  will  trust,  with  thee ; 
come  what  will,  I  will  not  murmur,  nor  despair,  but  hold  fast 
my  faith  in  the  Everlasting  Goodness." 

Bear  clasped  me  to  his  heart. 

I  was  somewhat  anxious  to  avoid  going  further  into  the 
fears  which  I  had  entertained,  but  he  had  laid  himself  out  to 
question  me,  and  he  would  not  desist  till  he  had  drawn  all 
forth.  When  I  alluded  to  my  doubt  regarding  himself,  he 
became  angry  and  said — "  How  couldst  thou  think  so  ill  of 
me,  Fanny  ?  How  couldst  thou  imagine  me  to  be  so  pitiful, 
so  unnatural  a  wretch  ?  This  only  can  excuse  thee,  that  thou 
wert  unwell." 

"  But  Bear  now  that  we  are  become  poor,  it  will  indeed 

be  a  matter  of  great  anxiety  to  bring  up  and  educate  children, 
especially  if  we  have  many — if  we  actually  have  ten  girls  !" 
I  laughed  as  I  said  this,  but  it  was  mth  tearful  eyes. 

"That  will  be  done  even.  We  shall  find  means,  never 
fear.  Children  that  are  received  in  love,  bring  a  blessing 
with  them.    The  more  children,  the  more  paternosters." 

"But  the  education — the  education!"  sighed  I;  "what 
burdens  this  brings  with  it,  when  we  consider  the  demands 
of  the  present  day." 


tRANSISKA  WERKER  TO  MAKIA  M. 


325 


*^  I  ask  the  d — ^1  after  the  demands  of  the  time,  in  many 
respects,"  muttered  Bear  ;  and  added  with  serious  and  cordia) 
kindness,  "  We  will  love  our  children,  Panny  !  We  will 
bring  them  up  in  a  clear  and  steady  fear  of  Grod.  We  will 
t^ach  them  order  and  diligence.  Wliat  relates  to  talent  and 
a  finer  accomplishment,  they  shall  receive  that  too  if  we  have 
the  means ;  if  we  have  them  not,  then  do  not  let  us  trouble 
ourselves  about  them.  The  chief  thing  is,  that  they  become 
good  and  useful  men ;  they  will  then  find  their  way  both  here 
and  hereafter.  Thou,  my  Fanny,  wilt  early  teach  them  what 
is  in  the  hymn  which  thou  art  so  fond  of  singing — 

He  who  can  read  his  paternoster  right, 
Fears  neither  witch  nor  devil." 

Bear's  words  and  mild  and  manly  expression  took  hold  on 
and  elevated  my  heart.  "No!"  I  exclaimed,  "I  will  no 
longer  be  anxious  and  fearful.  I  cannot  be  so  with  thee,  my 
Bear.  And  thou  little  exiled  prophet" — I  took  up  the  little 
cap — "  come  forth  to  the  light,  and  speak  openly  of  the  mys- 
tery!" 

How  delighted  was  Bear  with  the  little  cap !  He  had 
never  yet  seen  anything  so  neat  and  pretty.  I  now  sewed 
on  the  small  lace  round  it.  Bear  held  it  on  his  great  fist, 
and  smiled  at  it,  as  if  he  already  saw  it  adorn  the  head  of  his 
child.  The  whole  evening  was  a  succession  of  the  most  joyful 
feelings  and  scenes.  It  would  have  been  too  much  for  me, 
had  not  Bear  put  a  bound  to  it.  He  made  me  drink  one  or 
two  cups  of  tea,  and  sought  to  divert  my  attention  with  bread- 
and-butter.  He  himself  took  scarcely  anything.  He  looked 
at  me  and  at  the  little  cap  with  tears  in  his  eyes, — we  were 
happy. 

9th. 

"  Where  is  my  sadness,  Maria  ?  Where  my  discoveries  of 
evil,  where  are  my  anxious  forebodings  ?  It  is  as  if  all  these 
had  taken  their  flight  at  once,  never  again  to  return.  That 
lovely  picture  hangs  in  my  bedroom.  I  contemplate  it  many 
times  in  the  day.  I  perform  before  it  my  morning  and 
evening  worship,  and  it  speaks  to  me  :  it  says  to  me  all 
that  is  consolatory,  beautiful,  and  divine.  I  am  now  writing 
before  it ;  and  it  seems  to  me  as  if  the  Madonna  and  the 
Jesus-child  looked  down  upon  me  with  a  look  of  blessing 


326 


THE  NEIGHBOTTES. 


Oh,  my  child !  thy  mother  will  no  longer  be  in  anxiety  on 
thy  behalf.  Thou  wilt  have  a  tender  protector.  His  glanco 
rests  on  thee,  as  the  sun's  rays  fall  on  the  yet  unfolded  bud. 
As  He  is  immortal,  so  art  thou  immortal.  As  He  went  to 
Grod,  so  shalt  thou,  by  Him  conducted,  go  to  the  Eternal 
Father.  Whatever  may  be  dispensed  to  thee  on  earth,  we 
will  not  despair — we  will  not,  my  child,  lose  our  confidence. 
We  will  believe  that  He  who  has  called  thy  spirit  to  exist- 
ence, will  sooner  or  later  unfold  it,  and  conduct  it  to  himself. 
Oh  come,  my  child !  thy  earthly  father  shall  with  joy  press 
thee  to  his  bosom.  Thy  mother  will  live  to  make  thee 
happy ;  she  will  surround  thy  cradle  with  song  and  joy. 
Erom  her  bosom  wilt  thou  draw  thy  first  nourishment,  and 
there  wilt  thou  first  become  acquainted  with  love.  Then  wilt 
thou  be  prepared  hereafter  to  feel  and  to  understand  how 
Grod  loves.  O,  I  will  press  thee  so  warmly,  so  affectionately, 
to  my  heart,  that  no  cold  wind  of  life  shall  be  able  to  chill 
thee ;  that  even  when  the  ice  of  age  shall  freeze  thy  blood, 
thou  shalt  become  warm  at  the  recollections  of  maternal  love ! 

CHAPTEE  XXI. 

W  ,  December  13th. 

Whilst  time  and  events  are  passing  on,  I  find  myself 
one  fine  day  quite  in  love  with  Bruno.  Yes,  a  man  may 
shoot  horses  and  even  dogs,  when  he  is  so  kind  towards  his 
fellow-men.  Do  you  remember  what  I  told  you  of  the  family 
so  much  to  be  pitied — of  the  widow  with  the  many  children  ? 
Well  then,  they  are  comforted,  they  have  found  help.  Bruno 
has  lent  the  widow  a  capital  with  which  she  is  enabled  to 
begin  a  profitable  business ;  and  besides  this,  has  wholly 
undertaken  the  bringiiig-up  of  the  two  elder  boys.  How 
happy  are  the  rich,  who  can  render  such  effectual  help! 
Bruno  has  done  all  in  the  greatest  stillness,  and  commanded 
the  widow  to  say  nothing  of  it ;  but  in  her  joy  she  has  com- 
municated it  to  Serena,  and  she  was  here  this  forenoon  and 
related  the  whole  to  me.  A  beautiful  joy  animated  her  mild 
countenance  while  she  spoke  of  it ;  but  delighted  as  I  w^as,  I 
could  not  avoid  remarking  that  the  action  was  not  indeed  so 
vreat,  but  wds  rather  something  natural  to  a  rich  man 


TRANSISEA  WEENEE  TO  MAEIA  M. 


327 


"  That  is  true,"  said  Serena,  "  and  my  grandfather  has  often 
done  such  things  as  these  when  he  was  in  more  prosperous 
circumstances ;  but  I  could  not  see  Madame  E.'s  joy  without 
blessing  him  who  was  the  cause  of  it." 

At  this  moment  some  one  came.  Our  conversation 
was  interrupted,  and  Serena  went.  Old  Dahl  is  better. 
Thank  Grod!  AH  is  now  better.  The  weather  is  better, 
the  sick  are  better  ;  Bear  is  in  good  spirits,  and  my  pupils 
c'lre  improving  too.  In  the  house  we  are  making  sausages 
for  Christmas,  I  am  helping  to  make  them,  and  singing 
songs  with  Sissa  and  Bengta.  Ma  chere  mere  learns  to 
WTite  and  play  at  cards,  and  is  happy  in  Bruno  ;  who,  on  his 
part,  behaves  most  admirably  to  her ;  but,  as  Jean  Jacques 
says,  looks  gloomy  and  careworn. 

Why  does  he  wear  himself  away  ?  Why  does  he  avoid 
those  who  can  and  would  pour  balm  into  his  heart  ? 

19th. 

I  went  yesterday  forenoon  to  the  Dalils.  Serena  was  in 
the  ante-room,  busy  with  two  young  ladies,  whom  she  was 
instructing  in  the  lovely  art  of  making  artificial  flowers. 
Her  cheeks  had  a  livelier  colour  than  they  have  for  some 
time  past  had ;  and  this  rejoiced  me.  She  embraced  me,  and 
said  softly  to  me,  "  Thou  wilt  go  in  to  my  grandmamma 
awhile,  whilst  I  stay  here  ?  Try  to  enliven  her,  Eanny  ; 
speak  of  something  cheerful  to  her,  she  is  to-day  so  cast 
down." 

I  found  Madame  Dahl  in  her  bedroom.  She  sate  there 
alone  in  her  great  arm-chair,  and  sighed  deeply.  She  re- 
ceived me  with  motherly  kindness,  spoke  with  me  concerning 
myself,  and  gave  me  good  and  prudent  counsel ;  and  then 
fell  again  into  a  sad  silence,  which  she  broke  with  these 
words :  "  Tell  me  honestly,  Eransiska,  dost  thou  not  think 
that  Serena  is  much  gone  off  of  late  ?  Does  she  not  seem 
to  thee  to  grow  thinner  and  paler  every  day  ?" 

I  answered  that  I  thought  to-day  she  looked  healthier 
til  an  when  I  saw  her  last. 

But  at  any  rate  dost  thou  not  find  her  much  changed 
fidnce  the  summer  ?  Has  she  not,  especially  within  the  last 
month,  looked  very  much  worse  ?" 

I  could  not  deny  that  this  was  the  case  ;  but  added  that 


328 


THE  KElGlIBOtJHS. 


Sti'ena  would  soon  be  better,  and  that  she  thought  so  her- 
self. 

Ah !  my  dear  child,"  said  Madame  Dahl,  "that  gives  mo 
no  comfort.  Serena  is  exactly  like  her  late  mother,  my  dear 
blessed  Benjamina.  It  was  exactly  thus  that  she  began  to 
look,  some  months  before  her  death  ;  exactly  such  pale  cheeks, 
such  an  unearthly  look  as  this.  It  was  just  so  she  smiled 
and  said  to  us,  '  I  am  very  well.  I  shall  soon  be  better.' 
And  she  never  complained,  and  would  never  allow  that  any 
one  should  be  uneasy  on  her  account.  "  So  was  she  till  her 
last  moment.  Ah,  ah  !  Serena  will  soon  follow  her  mother, 
unless  she  has  some  help." 

Madame  Dahl  wiped  away  her  tears,  and  I  did  the  same, 
and  then  said,  "  Serena  is  not  bodily  ill,  it  is  only  her  mind, 
her  heart,  that  has  suffered  ;  and  shall  she  not  have  strength 
enough  to  overcome  this  suffering,  and  to  regain  her  perfect 
equanimity  ?" 

"  Yes,  strength  to  suffer  without  complaining ;  to  be  per- 
fectly resigned ;  but  not  strength  enough  not  to  die.  Ah,  dear 
child !  there  is  something  in  this  love  which  has  continued 
since  childhood,  which  has  taken  deep  root  in  her  heart. 
Already  as  a  child  she  hung  on  the  wild  boy  with  her  whole 
soul.  When  he  came,  she  laughed  and  stretched  out  her  little 
arms  towards  him  ;  when  he  went,  she  was  troubled  and  still ; 
and  I  have  observed  that  she  now  feels  towards  him  exactly 
as  she  did  then.  I  begin  to  fear  that  this  love  has  grown 
with  her  growth  ;  and  that  I  have  indeed  said  to  my  husband, 
but  he  w^ould  hear  nothing  of  it.  It  grieves  me  to  have  dis- 
pleased him,  but  I  had  no  rest  after  what  I  saw  yesterday." 

"  What  was  that,  my  dear  Madame  Dahl  ?" 

"  We  had  just  drunk  tea.  Serena  was  with  us.  The  dear 
child  probably  saw  that  my  eyes  were  fixed  on  her,  for  she 
became  suddenly  more  talkative  and  more  merry  than  usual. 
She  related  to  us  many  things,  over  which  we  were  obliged 
heartily  to  laugh,  and  I  had  nearly  forgotten  my  uneasiness, 
and  was  disposed  to  believe  that  we  were  right  happy.  When 
we  had  probably  thus  talked  and  laughed  for  an  hour,  Serena 
went  out,  anu  directly  afterwards  it  was  as  if  some  one  had 
said  to  me,  '  Go  and  see  after  her.'  I  went  softly  into  her 
chamber,  and  there  fouud  her,  her  forehead  leaned  against  the 
window.    I  grasped  her  head  with  my  hands,  and  obliged 


TEANSTSKA  WERNER  TO  MARIA  M. 


329 


oer  to  turn  her  dear  face  towards  me.  Ah,  Fransiska !  it 
was  bathed  in  tears.  She  would  have  hidden  them  from  mo 
at  first ;  and  when  she  could  not,  she  attributed  them  to  a 
book  which  she  had  been  reading,  and  which  had  excited  her. 
I  made  as  if  I  believed  her ;  but  I  perceived  now  what  hour 
the  clock  had  struck,  and  went  away  with  a  heart  heavier 
than  it  ever  can  be  in  death.  In  the  evening  I  would  not  say 
anything  to  my  husband  to  disturb  his  night's  rest ;  and 
besides  this,  Serena  came  in,  and  began  with  her  red  eyes  to 
read  aloud,  as  if  nothing  whatever  had  happened.  But  this 
morning  I  have  communicated  to  him  my  fears  ;  but  he  still 
believes  that  I  have  frightened  myself  with  my  fancies.  Ah  ! 
his  eyes  are  dull,  and  cannot  see  what  mine  see." 

"  But  if  Bruno  shows  himself  worthy  of  Serena,  will  hep 
good  parents  still  delay  to  make  her  and  him  happy  ?" 

"  Yes — if !  That  is  an  important — if — my  dear  child.  It 
seems  to  me  very  strange  of  him,  that  since  the  day  on  which 
he  solicited  Serena's  hand,  he  has  not  once  been  here.  And 
there  was  so  much  justice  in  what  my  husband  said  to  him, — 
Bruno  must  see  that.  If  he  really  love  Serena  with  his  whole 
heart,  this  postponement  of  the  matter  ought  not  to  keep  him 
away  from  our  house.  It  was  a  good  action  of  his  towards  the 

E  family.    Almost  every  one  that  w^e  meet  speaks  of  him 

with  distinction,  but  as  matters  now  stand,  we  may  and  can 
do  nothing  to  call  him  back  again.  All  must  now  depend  on 
himself  and  on  his  behaviour." 

At  this  moment  came  in  old  Mr.  Dahl.  He  saluted  me 
friendly,  although  not  so  cheerfully  as  usual ;  went  to  his  wife, 
and  tapped  her  on  the  shoulder.  It  seemed  to  me  as  though 
he  had  somewhat  good  to  say,  and  that  he  would  fain  be 
alone  ;  I  said,  therefore,  that  I  would  seek  Serena,  and  went. 
In  the  mean  time  I  would  not  disturb  the  flower  council  in 
the  ante-room,  and  took  another  way  to  Serena's  apartment, 
where  I  thought  to  wait  for  her.  Her  room  is  pretty  and 
cheerful.  One  sees  that  her  affectionate  parents  wished  that 
she  should  have  it  very  agreeable ;  and  I  know  not  w^hat 
atmosphere  of  peace,  order,  and  pure  taste  filled  the  neat 
abode,  and  made  me  there  experience  a  peculiar  pleasure. 
Several  paintings  adorned  the  walls,  some  of  them  Serena's 
own  work.  These  distinguished  themselves  by  the  simplicity 
^f  the  subjects,  and  by  the  care  and  truth  with  which  they 


THE  NEIGHBOTIBS, 


were  finislied.  After  I  had  contemplated  these,  a  green 
curtain  attracted  mj  curiosity.  I  drew  it  aside,  and  on  well- 
arranged  bookshelves  glowed  the  names  of  the  classical  writers 
of  Sweden  and  Denmark, — of  Denmark,  poor  in  people,  but 
rich  in  talent ;  small  in  extent,  but  great  in  its  intellectual 
aspiration.  They  were  all  old  acquaintances  of  mine ;  and 
charmed  at  finding  them  there,  I  touched  the  dear  volumes 
with  a  feeling  of  affection,  and  said,  "  Thanks,  thanks,  for  all 
the  strength,  all  the  good,  and  the  heavenly  enjoyment,  that 
you  have  afforded  to  me  and  to  many." 

On  the  table  lay  a  book  open.  It  was  "  Kernell's  Travels." 
A  pencil  lay  in  the  open  book.  I  saw  that  a  part  of  the  page 
was  underlined,  and  I  read. 

"  Life  must  become  light,  if  it  will  not  change  itself  into  a 
lethargic  sadness,  into  an  actual  death.    In  this  gloomy  dis- 

Eosition  of  mind,  man  cannot  prepare  himself  for  immortality ; 
ecause  he  understands  it  not,  and  strives  not  to  make  him- 
self worthy  of  it.  We  call  to  mind  moments  of  departed 
pleasure  more  vividly  than  the  past  hours  of  sorrow.  This  is 
a  hint  that  life  should  be  dear  to  us.  Death  must  not  be  re- 
garded as  a  liberation  from  prison  ;  it  is  only  a  step  higher, 
a  step  out  of  the  valley  to  the  top  of  the  mountain,  where  we 
enjoy  a  more  extended  prospect,  and  where  we  breathe  more 
freely, — out  of  the  valley,  into  which,  indeed,  the  light  and 
warmth  of  the  sun  penetrated,  and  where  also  the  love  of 
God  embraced  us.  Learn  properly  to  understand  and  to  love 
life,  if  thou  wilt  rightly  understand  and  love  eternity.  A  true 
Christian  must  already  be  happy  here  on  earth — that  is  the 
problem  of  life,  which  every  one  of  us  must  with  all  our 
power  endeavour  to  solve ;  that  difl&cult  problem  whose  solu- 
tion so  few  have  achieved,  and  which  has  cost  the  multitude 
so  much  conflict.  Yet  the  more  and  the  greater  are  the 
difficulties,  the  more  honourable  it  is  to  carry  off  the  victory. 
Man  may  be  disappointed  in  his  greatest  hopes  in  life, 

WITHOUT,  ON  THAT  ACCOUNT,  BECOMINa  UNHAPPY.     I  have 

long  suspected,  and  am  daily  more  and  more  by  the  course  of 
the  world,  and  through  my  own  inward  experience,  convinced, 
that  there  is  no  other  actual  misfortune,  except  this  only — 
Not  to  have  God  fob,  our  Friend.'* 

I  also  underlined  the  beautiful  and  strengthening  words. 
I  would  wish  to  have  them  framed  in  gold.    Ou  a  little  loose 


FEAKSISKA  W£R>T:E  TO  MAEIA  M. 


831 


strip  of  paper,  lay  in  the  book  by  this  passage,  some  words  in 
Serena's  own  hand.  I  read  them  ;  they  were  these  :  "  Tes, 
all  may  be  borne ;  aU  may  be  sanctified ;  all  in  life  and  in 
the  heart  may  be  converted  to  good,  through  prayer  and 
labour." 

"A  great  truth,  Serena!"  thought  I,  "which  I  must  fur- 
ther discuss  with  thee."  But  Serena  came  not:  I  became 
impatient,  and  went  to  seek  her.  I  found  her  not  in  the 
ante-room  ;  but  in  the  sleeping-room  I  heard  voices,  the  door 
stood  ajar,  and  I  became  witness  of  this  scene.  Serena 
kneeled  on  a  footstool  at  the  feet  of  her  grandmother,  and 
had  thrown  one  arm  around  her  neck  ;  her  other  hand  wa3 
given  to  the  old  Dahl,  who  regarded  her  with  an  unspeakable 
expression  of  tenderness  and  care  in  his  venerable  coun- 
tenance, while  she,  with  a  quiet  exaltation  in  look  and  tone, 
said  to  them  :  "Be  not  uneasy,  be  not  troubled  on  my  ac- 
count, my  kind,  kind  parents  !  Believe  me,  I  am  quiet,  I  am 
contented ;  I  am  your  happy  and  grateful  child.  I  have 
suffered  a  short  struggle,  it  is  true,  and  it  could  not  be  pre- 
vented ;  but  I  am  already  better,  and  I  shall  soon  be  perfectly 
strong  again.    Only  be  at  peace,  do  not  be  uneasy  !" 

I  stole  quietly  away ;  I  would  not  listen,  neither  would  I 
disturb  these  lovmg  ones.  I  went  back  to  Serena's  room, 
continued  there  my  observations,  took  up  that  page  again 
whereon  Serena  had  written,  and  held  it  yet  in  my  hand  as 
she  entered.  Serena  blushed,  called  me  curious,  but  em- 
braced me  with  silent  affection.  "  Don't  be  angry  with  me, 
Serena,"  I  said  ;  "  thou  must,  on  the  contrary,  be  right  good 
and  humble,  since  I  stand  here  with  the  purpose  to  make 
thee  some  reproaches." 

"  Make  me  reproaches!"  exclaimed  Serena  smiling;  "now 
let  me  hear  them  !" 

"  Don't  look  so  lively  and  secure,  Serena !  I  am  very 
seriously  angry  with  thee  ;"  and  I  now  related  what  Madame 
Dahl  had  told  me  of  the  scene  of  last  evening,  as  well  as  that 
of  which  I  had  that  moment  been  an  eye-witness  ;  and  added 
zealously :  "  That  is  not  honest  of  thee,  Serena !  That  is 
needless,  irrational  self-torture.  Why  represent  thyself  to  thy 
parents  other  than  what  thou  really  art  ?  Wherefore  infuse 
into  them  a  false  security,  while  sorrow  consumes  thee,  and 
this  the  deeper,  the  more  thou  shroudest  it  within  thyself?" 


832 


THE  KEIQHBOURS. 


And  what  wouldest  thou  have  me  do,  dear  Fanny  said 
Serena,  while  tears  forced  themselves  into  her  eyes.  "  Shall 
I  occasion  my  aged  parents  to  suffer  griefs  which  they  have 
not  power  to  remove  ?  Shall  I  embitter  their  days  with  my 
weakness  ?  And  would  this  help  me  ?  Would  it  do  me  any 
good  ?  0  no,  Fanny  !  That  thou  canst  not  wish !  That 
thou  canst  not  suppose.  I  am  convinced  that  they  act  for 
me  right,  and  affectionately  ;  I  am  convinced  that  on  our 
side  nothing  now  can  or  ought  to  be  done.  It  has  grieved 
me  that  Bruno  could  absent  himself  so  long  from  us, — it 
seems  to  me  unfriendly,  yes,  hard  of  him,  but  I  have  ac- 
customed myself  to  wait,  and  I  will  yet  wait  more  patiently, 
for  he  will  one  day  come  again  ;  that  I  feel  and  am  persuaded. 
But,  Fanny,  let  us  not  now  talk  of  it ;  let  us  not  now  think 
of  me  ;  we  will  rather  think  of  anything  else.  There  is  now 
much  to  be  done  in  preparation  for  the  Grolden  Marriage. 
That  will  be  a  great,  a  charming  day,  Fanny  !  Think  only  of 
the  happy  and  virtuous  united  life  of  half  a  century  !  Then 
Christmas  is  also  at  hand  !  Thou  and  thy  good  man  must 
eat  your  Christinas  welcome  with  us.  Madame  E.'s  children 
are  also  coming.  I  have  begged  my  parents  to  allow  me  to 
prepare  a  little  Christmas  pleasure  for  them.  Thou  wilt 
come  !  Ah  !  that  is  beautiful.  Let  us  go  out  immediately, 
and  purchase  our  Christmas  gifts.  The  weather  is  fine,  and 
I  will  be  your  cashier." 

We  went.  It  was  a  pleasure  to  see  the  people  in  the 
market,  and  the  joy  and  eagerness  of  the  children,  who,  by 
the  side  of  their  parents,  hopped  about  on  the  new-fallen 
snow.  Serena  was  delighted  with  the  scene.  We  exchanged 
our  remarks  ;  we  made  our  purchases.  I  bought  an  Attrape 
for  Bear.  Two  pleasant  hours  fied ;  and  Serena  seemed,  in 
her  interest  and  activity  for  others,  to  have  forgotten  that 
she  herself  was  not  happy. 

CHRISTMAS-DAT. 

The  pleasant  Christmas-eve  at  Dahls — the  rejoicing  of  the 
children  over  their  Christmas-tree,  full  of  lights,  and  presents, 
and  sweetmeats — Serena's  motherly  behaviour  towards  them 
— my  pleasure  in  it — the  Christmas  supper — the  Christmas- 
eve  night, — all  this  I  pass  over  in  haste,  in  order  to  proceed 
thither,  where  Serena,  I,  and  Bear  agreed  to  go  together. 


FEA^fSISKA  WEET^-EE  TO  MAEIA  M 


SS3 


and  wliither  thou,  dear  Maria,  must  now  accompany  me; 
namelvj  to 

THE  EAELT  MASS  OE  CHETSTMAS-DAT. 

"We  were  in  the  church.  Its  great  and  beautiful  arched 
roof  shone  with  a  thousand  tapers.  Altar,  columns,  choir,  all 
glittered, — all  was  so  full  of  light,  and  splendour,  and  glad- 
ness. The  organ  was  yet  silent.  There  prevailed  a  solemn 
stillness  in  the  church,  which  by  the  light  rustling  of  the 
monng  multitude  seemed  rather  to  be  heightened  than  dis- 
turbed. We  seated  ourselves  in  the  choir ;  a  long  row  of 
tapers  opposite  to  us  threw  a  powerful  light  upon  us.  "  Thou 
lookest  quite  glorified,"  said  Bear  to  me  as  I  seated  myself. 
Serena  had  to  me  the  same  appearance.  My  soul  was  full  of 
a  joyful  devotion. 

Not  far  from  us,  with  his  back  leaned  against  a  pillar,  and 
overshadowed  by  it,  stood  a  tall  dark  figure,  evidently  sunk 
in  deep  thought.  It  was  Bruno.  His  profile  was  beautiful, 
but  seemed  to  me  unusually  pale.  He  saw  us  not ;  his  head 
was  bowed  down  ;  for  him  the  outer  world  was  not  there  ; 
but  at  the  first  tone  of  the  mighty  organ  he  started  and 
looked  up.  His  eyes  and  those  of  Serena  met :  he  made  no 
salutation  ;  she  made  none  ;  they  appeared  to  be  wholly  lost 
in  their  mutual  gaze,  and  I  gazed  on  them.  They  seemed  to 
me  like  spirits  which,  after  long  sufferings,  meet  and  are 
again  united  in  a  happy  world.  Their  countenances  were 
pale  ;  but  an  ineffable  expression  of  love  and  a  kind  of  blessed 
pain  as  it  were  illuminated  them.  It  was  a  glance  of  deep 
and  mutual  recognition.  Serena's  eyelids  sunk  wet  with 
tears.  Bruno  was  soon  at  her  side,  and  kneeling  down  on 
her  foot-board,  he  said  with  a  soft  but  not  whispering  voice, 
"Allow  me  to  pray  with  you."  Serena  held  the  hynm-book 
so  that  he  could  see.  As  their  voices  were  raised  and  united 
themselves  in  a  deep  harmonious  tone,  there  went  through 
me  a  presentiment  that  these  two  v^ere  destined  for  each 
other,  that  their  union  is.  determined  in  heaven,  since  it  is 
founded  in  this  sympathy  of  souls,  which  is  the  condition  and 
the  guarantee  of  an  immortal  wedded  felicity. 

The  moment  that  this  thought  arose  in  me,  the  question 
also  presented  itself  to  my  mind,  whether  Bear  and  I  sym- 
pathized? I  felt  a  desire  to  ask  him  whnt  he  thought  of  it; 
but  aa  I  looked  at  him,  as  he  titood  beside  me,  and  vviihinit 


THE  NEIGHBOUES. 


looking  right  or  left,  without  being  conscious  of  that  which 
was  passing  near  him,  was  singing  his  song  of  praise  with  a 
powerful  bass  voice  and  from  the  bottom  of  his  heart,  I  was 
ashamed  of  my  foolish  thoughts,  and  joined  in  his  hymn, 
feeling  inwardly  that  I  reverenced  and  loved  him  with  my 
whole  soul. 

Between  Bruno  and  Serena  were  now  neither  word  nor 
look  farther  exchanged ;  but  as  she  stooped  her  head  in 
prayer,  he  bowed  his  also ;  when  her  finger  pointed  out  the 
verse  that  should  be  sung,  he  followed  it ;  it  appeared  to 
make  him  happy  to  pray  with  her.  As  we  left  the  church  he 
was  at  her  side,  and  made  way  for  us  through  the  crowd. 
He  conducted  us  to  the  carriage  ;  and  when  this  stopped  at 
the  house  of  the  Dahls,  he  was  there  already,  and  assisted  us 
to  dismount.  His  face  was  lit  up  by  the  moon,  and  had  a 
beautiful  expression  of  soft  and  exalted  feeling.  "  I  shall  see 
you  soon  again,"  said  he  to  Serena,  as  he  kissed  her  hand. 
He  then  shook  hands  with  Bear  and  myself,  and  departed. 
I  have  never  yet  seen  him  so  cheerful  and  friendly. 

We  drank  our  second  coffee  with  the  aged  Dahls.  Serena 
related  to  her  grandparents  with  undissembled  joy  our  meet- 
ing with  Bruno,  and  his  promise  very  soon  to  visit  them.  It 
appeared  to  give  the  old  people  pleasure. 

"What  a  morning!"  said  Serena  to  me,  as  we  were  an 
instant  alone  together.  "  O  Fanny !  life  has  beautiful,  won- 
derful hours.  As  I  beheld  him  in  the  clear  light — as  he 
sung  with  me — ah  !  I  fear  only  that  from  this  moment  my 
worship  was  no  longer  pure  —  all  my  prayers  were  for 
him !" 

May  no  one  have  greater  sins  to  repent  of! — ^but  now  I 
must  leave  thee,  Maria,  for  the  carriage  is  come,  to  fetch  us 
to  dine  with  Ma  chere  mere. 

i  January  2nd. 

We  have  had  a  little  quarrel,  I  and  my  Bear.  You  recol- 
lect my  secret — the  music -lessons.  They  arrived  at  a  grand 
6clat.  Bear  came  in  one  day  in  the  very  middle  of  the  "  Ba- 
taille  de  Prague."  He  was  confounded.  After  the  battle 
came  an  alarm.  May  all  matrimonial  contentions  so  begin, 
and  so  end ;  then  would  there  much  oftener  be  Te  JDeim  sung 
in  families. 


FBAKSISKA  WERNER  TO  MARIA  M. 


335 


5th. 

Last  evening  we  had  a  little,  select  circle,  assembled  and 
united  in  a  great  enjoyment.  And  who  were  these  select  ? 
Who  should  they  be  besides  myself — long  life  to  modesty ! — 
my  other  self,  Bruno,  Serena,  and  the  Patriarchs,  in  whose 
house  we  were.  There  was  yet  a  seventh  guest  there,  to 
complete  the  constellation,  one  who  elevated  all  the  rest  into 
his  own  heaven,  and  this  was — Poesy.  Bruno  read  aloud 
Tegner's  Axel ;  and  this  splendid,  and  never-to-be-too-often- 
read  poem,  now  pronounced  by  Bruno's  soulful  voice,  seemed 
more  transporting  than  ever.  Serena's  needle  dreamed  in  her 
hand,  and  her  eye  seemed  to  have  become  ear  ;  and  we  all,  old 
and  young,  were  changed  in  heart.  "We  became  mild,  warm, 
and  affectionate.  High  and  beautiful  is  the  lot  of  the  great 
poet.  His  lyre  is  the  world,  and  the  strings  on  which  he 
plays  are  the  souls  of  men.  When  he  wills  it,  these  tonea 
are  called  forth,  and  melt  together  into  a  divine  harmony. 

Thus  it  was  in  our  little  circle.  A  sweet  inexpressible 
pleasure  diffused  itself  amongst  us  ;  we  made,  as  it  were,  only 
one  happy,  loving  family.  Bruno's  otherwise  now  dark,  now 
flaming  glance,  beamed  with  a  softened  radiance,  and  rested 
on  Serena  with  an  expression  of  deep  but  sorrowful  love. 
Serena  was  so  happy,  so  gay,  so  beautiful,  that  it  seemed  as 
if  ail  the  darkness  in  the  world  would  become  light  before  hep. 
She  seemed  in  her  blissful  heart  to  desire  to  embrace  and  bless 
every  living  creature.  She  saluted  me  as  we  went  with  tears  of 
joy  in  her  eyes,  while  she  said — "  Seest  thou  that  he  comes 
again  ?  Seest  thou  that  all  will  turn  out  as  I  said  ?  We 
shall  become  one  family ;  united,  peaceful,  and  happy." 

"  Yes !"  thought  I,  "  if  the  holy  spirit  of  Poetry  were  but 
ever  with  us,  and  in  us ;  but  ah !" 

CHAPTEE  XXII. 

W  ,  January  12th. 

"  Bless  me  !  what  a  bustle  there  is,  both  within  and  with  , 
out !"    On  all  sides  here  we  are  preparing  for  the  Golden 
Marriage.    I  do  not  know  if  I  have  already  told  you  that 
the  great  day  falls  on  the  20th  of  this  month.    The  whole  city 
and  country  take  an  interest  in  it.    It  is  as  if  all  the  peoplb 


in  the  place  liere  were  related  to  the  old  venerable  Dahls. 
Their  eight  children,  with  all  their  families,  are  expected.  I, 
too,  am  in  action  on  account  of  the  feast.  I  help  Serena  as 
well  as  I  can,  and  practise  with  Bruno  a  choral  song  which  is 
to  be  sung  at  the  festivity.  Bruno  has  composed  the  music ; 
he  is  really  a  master,  and  it  is  a  pleasure  to  put  oneself  under 
his  direction.  The  persons  who  are  to  compose  the  choir 
assemble  at  our  house  twice  a  week,  and  are  trained  by  the 
strict  master,  before  whom  we  all  stand  somewhat  in  awe. 
Serena  has  so  much  to  do  in  preparation  for  the  feast,  and  so 
much  to  do  for  all  the  uncles,  aunts,  and  cousins,  that  I  see 
very  little  of  her.  Once  she  came  and  mixed  her  voice  in  the 
chorus,  but  then  vanished  all  devotion  out  of  the  practising ; 
Bruno's  body,  indeed,  sate  at  the  instrument,  but  his  soul 
was  with  her.  He  is  often  in  the  evening  at  the  Dahls.  He 
endeavours  to  gain  the  good- will  of  the  old  people  ;  talks  with 
them,  and  reads  to  them.  Serena  takes  her  rest ;  persuades 
herself  that  she  has  acquired  a  brother,  and  is  happy. 

16th. 

The  young  people  come  from  east  and  west ; — Dahls  here ; 
Dahls  there.  Brave  men,  handsome  children;  how  some 
femilies  do  flourish!  A  swarm  of  cousins  encounter  one 
another  here  at  every  step  ;  brotherships  and  friendships  are 
concluded ;  the  whole  city  is  in  motion.  A  variety  of  balls 
and  festivities  are  to  follow  in  the  train  of  the  Golden  Wed- 
ding ;  even  Ma  chere  mere  will  give  a  great  dinner-party.  I 
shall  probably  not  see  much  of  this  pleasure  and  gaiety,  since 
I  must  keep  myself  quiet ;  but  I  shall  hold  the  joyful  feast 
in  my  heart. 

Bruno  is  again  in  a  changeable  and  more  gloomy  humour, 
and  the  gladness  is  quenched  in  Serena's  looks.    Alas  ! 

Miss  Hellevi  Husgafvel  is  on  this  occasion  invaluable  as 
counsellor  and  helper  for  the  Dahl  family.  She  has  under- 
taken the  arrangement  of  a  series  of  living  pictures,  with 
which  the  aged  Dahls  are  to  be  surprised.  She  has  taken 
Lagman  Hok  into  her  councils  ;  and  they  drape,  and  explain, 
and  discuss  (dispute  too,  very  likely,  a  little  occasionally), 
and  arrange,  etc.  I  am  persuaded  that  we  shall  see  some- 
thing beautiful  come  out  of  it.  There  will  be  a  great  multi- 
tude of  people  assembled  at  the  Dahls  on  the  eve  of  the 


FRANSISKA  WEKIiEE  TO  MABIA  M. 


337 


great  day  ;  and  this  is  as  it  should  be.  This  marriage  m  ust 
be  as  publicly  and  ceremoniously  celebrated,  as  a  first  mar- 
riage should  be  conducted  quietly  and  modestly.  Then, 
people  go  on  board  to  sail  over  a  sea  where  winds  and  waves 
are  often  stormy  ;  but  here,  on  the  contrary,  in  the  Grolden 
Marriage,  they  have  completed  their  voyage ;  they  have 
reached  the  hav^en,  and  can  calmly  hoist  the  flag  of  victory. 

Ma  chere  mere  comes  to  the  feast,  and  I  shall  have  the 
pleasure  of  keeping  her  for  the  night  with  me.  I  will  my- 
self roast  the  coifee,  that  she  may  eniov  in  the  highest  per- 
fection the  beverage  which  she  preiciw  to  all  others. 

I  have  a  variety  of  things  to  say  to  thee  of  the  younger 
branches  of  the  Dahl  family,  but  must  defer  it  till  after  the 
marriage,  when  I  shall  have  more  time  ;  but,  in  passing,  I 
must  tell  thee,  that  I  have  selected  a  favourite  from  amongst 
them.  She  is  named  Mattea ;  is  a  tall,  thoroughly  plain,  but 
thoroughly  good  creature,  of  twenty  years  of  age,  who  has 
won  my  heart  by  her  joyous,  open-hearted  disposition,  her 
sincere  love  for  Serena,  and  her  splendid  playing  on  the 
piano. 

January  21st. 

"With  whatever  thou  mayst  be  employed — be  it  with  the  last 
stitch  of  a  stocking,  or  the  last  word  of  a  compliment,  or  with 
the  contemplation  of  a  portrait,  or  with  a  romance  of  Bulwer, 
or  a  discourse  on  the  immortality  of  the  soul  with  B.,  or  the 
setting  on  of  a  piece  of  weaving,  or  the  preparation  of 
a  citron-cream,  oi'  the  answer  to  a  love-letter, — leave  all  in  an 
instant,  and  sit  thee  reverently  down  and  read  that  chapter 
which  I  am  proposing  to  write,  and  which  is  entitled — 

THE  GOLDEN  MABEIAaE. 

If  you  wish  to  learn  the  true  beauty  and  value  of  marriage, 
if  you  wish  to  see  what  this  union  may  be  for  two  human 
hearts,  and  for  life,  then  observe  not  the  wedded  ones  in  their 
honeymoon,  nor  by  the  cradle  of  their  first  child ;  not  at  a 
time  when  novelty  and  hope  yet  throw  a  morning  glory  over 
the  young  and  new-born  world  of  home :  but  survey  them 
rather  in  the  more  remote  years  of  manhood,  when  they  have 
proved  the  world  and  each  other,  when  they  have  conquered 
many  an  error  and  many  a  temptation,  in  order  to  become 
only  the  more  united  to  each  other ;  when  labours  and  cares 

T 


888 


THE  NEIGnEOUKS. 


are  theirs ;  when  under  the  burden  of  the  day,  as  well  as  ii, 
hours  of  repose,  they  support  one  another,  and  find  that  they 
M-e  sufficient  for  each  other.  Or  survey  them  still  further  in 
life  ;  see  them  arrived  at  that  period  when  the  world,  with  all 
its  changes  and  agitations,  rolls  far  away  from  them  ;  when 
every  object  around  them  becomes  ever  dimmer  to  them ; 
when  their  house  is  still,  when  they  are  solitary,  but  yet 
stand  there  hand  in  hand,  and  each  reads  in  the  other's  eyes 
only  love  ;  when  they,  with  the  same  memories  and  the  same 
hopes,  stand  on  the  boundaries  of  another  life,  into  which 
they  are  prepared  to  enter ;  of  all  the  desires  of  this  being, 
retaining  only  the  one,  that  they  may  die  on  the  same  day; — 
yes,  then  behold  them !  And  on  that  account  turn  now  to 
the  Patriarchs,  and  to  the  Golden  Marriage. 

There  is  indeed  something  worth  celebrating,  thought  I,  as 
I  awoke  in  the  morning.  The  sun  appeared  to  be  of  the  same 
opinion,  for  it  shone  on  the  snow-covered  roof  of  the  house  or 
the  aged  pair.  I  availed  myself  of  the  morning  hour,  wrapped 
myself  in  my  cloak,  kissed  Bear,  and  trudged  forth  to  carry 
my  congratulations  to  the  old  people,  and  to  see  if  I  could  in 
anything  be  helpful  to  Serena.  The  aged  pair  sate  in  the 
ante-room,  clad  in  festal  garb,  each  in  his  own  easy-chair. 
Two  snuff-boxes,  a  hymn-book,  and  a  large  nosegay  of  fresh 
flowers,  lay  on  the  table.  The  sun  shone  in  through  snow- 
white  curtains.  It  was  cheerful  and  peaceful  in  the  room, 
and  the  Patriarchs  appeared  in  the  sunny  light  as  if  sur- 
rounded by  a  glory.  With  emotion  I  pronounced  my  con- 
gratulation, and  was  embraced  by  them  as  by  a  father  and 
mother. 

"  A  lovely  day,  Madame  Werner !"  said  the  old  gentleman, 
joyfully,  as  he  looked  towards  the  window. 

"  Yes,  beautiful  indeed,"  I  answered;  "so  beautiful  that 
the  angels  of  Grod  must  rejoice  in  it.  It  is  the  feast  of  love 
and  truth  on  the  earth." 

The  two  old  people  smiled,  and  reached  each  other  a 
hand.  There  arose  a  great  commotion  in  the  hall.  It  was 
the  troop  of  children  and  children's  children,  who  all  in 
holiday  garb  and  with  joyous  looks  streamed  in  to  bring  their 
wishes  of  happiness  to  their  venerable  parents.  It  was 
charming  to  see  these  groups  of  lovely  children  cling  round 
the  old  people,  like  young  saplings  round  the  aged  stems.  It 


F2ANSISKA  WEENER  TO  MAEIA  M. 


339 


NSLS  charming  to  see  the  little  rosy  mouths  turned  up  to  kiss, 
the  little  arms  stretching  to  embrace  them,  and  to  hear  the 
clamour  of  loving  words  and  exulting  voices. 

I  availed  myself  of  this  moment  quietly  to  retire  and  to 
seek  Serena.  I  found  her  in  the  kitchen  surrounded  with 
people,  and  dealing  out  viands  ;  for  there  was  to-day  a  great 
distribution  of  food  and  money  by  the  Dahls  to  the  poor  of 
the  place.  Serena  accompanied  the  gifts  with  friendly  looks 
and  words,  and  won  blessings  for  her  parents.  When  the 
distribution  was  at  an  end,  Serena  accompanied  me  to  her 
room  :  there  I  looked  inquiringly  into  her  friendly  counte- 
nance, and  said  joyously,  "  Thou  lookest  quite  happy  to-day. 
Serena!" 

"And  how  could  it  be  otherwise?"  answered  she;  "all 
around  me  to-day  are  happy.  My  dear  old  parents  seem  to- 
day to  have  received  their  youth  again ;  and  yesterday  thou 
shouldst  have  heard  Tanny,  as  they  sate  before  the  evening 
fire,  and  went  through  their  whole  life,  and  spoke  of  what 
now  stood  before  them — it  was  so  beautiful,  so  solemn  1" 

Miss  Hellevi  Husgafvel  here  interrupted  us ;  we  must 
follow  her  up  to  the  second  story.  Here  all  was  dust,  noise, 
and  confusion.  One  saloon  was  in  the  act  of  being  hung  with 
drapery  and  prepared  for  a  ball ;  another  was  preparing  for 
the  proposed  tableaux.  Miss  HeUevi,  who  already  saw  in 
spirit  how  the  whole  would  be  arranged,  flew  lightly  as  a  bird 
amongst  scaflblding,  cordage,  and  a  thousand  things  which 
stood  about,  while  she  said,  "  See,  dear  Madame  Werner, 
this  will  be  so,  and  this  so.  Won't  that  be  good  ?  Won't 
it  have  a  good  eflect  ?" 

"Madame  Werner!"  called  Lagman  Hok,  down  from  a 
ladder  on  whose  top  he  stood  aloft  with  the  face  of  Den 
Quixote,  "won't  this  lighting-up  have  a  fine  effect  against 
the  yeUow  di*apery  ?" 

"Excellent!  splendid!"  I  exclaimed  with  secret  anxiety  ; 
"  but  Lagman  Hok,  that  chandelier  will  certainly  faU  !  Good 
Miss  Husgafvel,  this  scaflblding  wiU  certainly  come  all  down 
together !" 

The  light  and  lively  Miss  Birdsnest  laughed  at  my  obvious 
terror  ;  and  I  hastened,  my  ears  deafened  with  the  hammer- 
ing, out  of  the  uncomfortable  purgatory  which  is  to  conduct 
to  an  aesthetic  paradise ;  but  I  did  not  the  less  praise  those 

r  2 


340 


THE  NEIGHBOUES, 


v\^ho  there  busied  themselves,  although  I  had  myself  rathe? 
pluck  roses  without  having  to  feel  their  thorns.  After  I  had 
accompanied  Serena  to  other  quarters,  and  consulted  with  her 
how  various  things  were  to  be  arranged,  I  took  my  leave, 
with  the  promise  to  be  there  early  in  the  evening.  But 
before  I  set  out,  I  became  witness  to  a  ceremonial  scene.  A 
deputation  from  the  corporation  of  the  city  appeared  in.  its 
name,  and  presented  to  the  venerable  pair  a  large  gilt  silver 
cup,  as  a  testimony  of  the  esteem  and  gratitude  of  their 
fellow^- citizens.  I  missed  Ma  chere  mere  in  the  place  of  the 
mayor ; — what  a  stately  speech  would  she  not  have  delivered  ! 

I  was  glad  at  dinner  to  tell  over  all  these  things  to  Bear. 
His  mouth  watered  to  hold  his  Golden  Wedding.  To  that 
we  probably  shall  not  arrive,  but  we  may  possibly  attain  our 
silver  one.  Ah  !  I  wonder  whether  our  ten  daughters  will  then 
stand  round  us !  It  would  be  a  lovely  marriage-garland. 
See  !  there  has  fallen  a  tear  at  the  thought  of  it ! 

At  six  o'clock  in  the  eyening.  Bear  and  his  little  wife 
strolled  arm-in-arm  to  the  wedding-house.  In  the  street  in 
which  it  lay,  light  burned  against  light ;  one  window  was  lit 
up  after  another ;  cressets  burned  at  the  corners  of  the 
street ;  and  presently  the  street  was  bright  as  day,  and  a 
great  number  of  people  wandered  with  glad  countenances  up 
and  down  in  the  still,  mild,  winter  evening.  The  city  was 
illuminated  in  honour  of  its  Patriarchs ;  the  house  of  the 
Dahls  itself  had  a  sombre  look  in  comparison  with  the  others, 
but  the  light  was  within. 

Exactly  as  we  were  endeavouring  to  enter  the  gate  through 
a  crowd  of  people,  who  had  collected  there  in  order  to  see 
the  arrivals,  my  eyes  fell  on  a  figure  which  stood  amongst  the 
rest.  It  was  wrapped  in  a  great  black  shawl ;  but  the  two 
large  burning  eyes,  which  flashed  forth  from  beneath  this 
covering,  made  me  start,  and  I  thought  involuntarily  on 
Hagar.  In  the  same  instant  the  figure  drew  itself  back  ;  and 
uncertain  whether  I  was  right  in  my  conjecture,  but  with  a 
secret  presentiment  of  misfortune,  I  entered  the  marriage- 
house. 

At  the  door  of  the  saloon  Serena  met  me ;  she  wore  a 
white  garland  in  her  light-brown  hair,  and  at  the  sight  of  her 
vanished  every  dark  thought.  Ah !  how  charming  was  sn* 
aoi  this  evening  in  the  light  white  dress,  with  her  friendly 


JUA^fSTSKA  WER^^ER  TO  MARIA  M. 


341 


blue  eyes,  her  pure  brow,  and  tlie  heavenly  smile  on  her  lips ! 
Had  I  but  had  the  power  to  paint  her  at  this  moment !  As 
every  flower  has  its  moment  of  perfect  beauty,  so  has  a 
human  being  moments  in  which  his  highest  and  loveliest  life 
blooms  forth,  in  which  he  appears  what  he  actually  is,  what 
he  is  in  the  depth  of  Grod's  intentions.  These  fleeting  re- 
relations — for  there  is  nothing  abiding  on  the  earth — these 
are  that  which  the  genuine  artist  seeks  to  lay  hold  of;  and 
therefore  it  is  unjust  to  say  of  a  successful  portrait,  especially 
that  of  an  intellectual  person,  that  it  is  flattered.  But 
whither  am  I  wandering  ?  I  was  speaking  of  Serena.  She 
was  so  friendly,  so  amiable  to  everybody  ;  and  yet — I  knew 
it — she  was  not  in  herself  happy.  Friends  and  relatives 
arrived ;  the  rooms  became  filled.  Ma  chere  mere  entered 
with  great  stir.  She  was  conducted  by  Bruno  ;  and  although 
blind,  was  as  high  and  stately  as  ever.  Heartily  she  greeted 
the  venerable  pair,  while  she  said  with  a  loud  voice — "  Old 
friends  and  old  ways  I  do  not  quit  willingly,  and  therefore  I 
am  here.  I  am  come  to  wish  you  happiness,  my  friends,  on 
this  your  day  of  honour.  *  Every  one  is  the  aHiflcer  of  his 
own  fortune,'  says  the  proverb  ;  and  consequently,  if  any 
one  would  question  whether  you,  my  two  honoured  friends, 
are  happy  to-day,  it  would,  I  say,  be  just  the  same  as  if  any 
one  should  question  whether  the  king  be  a  nobleman.  It  is 
as  certain  as  the  Amen  in  the  church.  God  bless  you!"  She 
shook  them  heartily  by  the  hand. 

Jane  Marie  was  richly  dressed  and  amiable.  Bruno  was 
gloomy.  His  dark  eyes  followed  constantly  the  light  Serena, 
but  received  thence  no  illumination.  He  was  silent  and  in- 
troverted. 

By  eight  o'clock  all  the  guests  were  assembled.  They  had 
drunk  tea,  eaten  ice,  and  so  on,  and  now  fell  at  once  a  great 
silence.  The  two  old  people  seated  themselves  in  two  easy- 
chairs,  which  stood  near  each  other  in  the  middle  of  the 
saloon,  on  a  richly  embroidered  mat.  Their  children  and 
children's  children  gathered  in  a  half  circle  around  them. 
A  clergyman  of  noble  presence  stepped  forward,  and  pro- 
nounced an  oration  on  the  beauty  and  holiness  of  marriage. 
He  concluded  with  a  reference  to  the  life  of  the  venerable 
pair ;  which  was  a  better  sermon  on  the  excellence  of  mar^ 


212 


THE  NEiaHBOUES. 


tiage,  for  life,  and  for  the  human  heart,  than  his  speech  itselH 
What  he  said  was  true  and  touching.  There  was  not  a  dry 
eye  in  the  whole  company.  Bear  and  I  leaned  against  each 
other.  A  solemn  and  affectionate  mood  had  affected  all,  and 
there  prevailed  a  deep  silence  through  the  numerous  assembly, 
but  it  was  not  that  of  weariness. 

In  the  mean  time  all  the  preparations  for  the  second  divi- 
sion of  the  festival  were  complete ;  and  the  company  ascended 
up  the  steps  covered  with  matting  to  the  second  story.  Here 
the  tableaux  were  presented,  whose  beauty  and  grace  ex- 
ceded  everything  that  I  had  anticipated.  These  at  some 
opportunity  I  will  describe.  The  last  consisted  of  a  weU- 
arranged  group  of  the  whole  body  of  the  descendants  of  the 
Dalils.  The  chorus  was  sung  during  the  representation  of 
this  tableau,  and  went  off  extremely  well,  especially  when  we 
heard  it  the  second  time.  The  whole  representation  gave 
general  and  great  pleasure.  As  the  chorus  ceased  for  the 
second  time,  and  the  curtain  fell  for  the  last  time,  the  doors 
of  the  dance-saloon  flew  open,  a  dazzling  light  streamed 
thence,  and  lively  music  set  all  the  feet  and  hearts  of  the 
young  in  motion.  And  now,  Maria,  take  out  your  eau-de- 
Cologne  bottle,  and  prepare  yourself  for  a  catastrophe,  which 
was  as  startling  as  it  was  unsDsthetic.  Realities  are  some- 
times sadly  prosaic. 

The  old  Dahl  had  ad\^anced  into  the  dance-saloon  on  the 
arm  of  his  granddaughter  ;  the  guests  followed  in  lively  con- 
versation, when  I  suddenly  became  aware  of  a  movement  in 
the  great  chandelier,  the  same  which  had  excited  my  fears 
in  the  forenoon.  Serena,  on  whose  arm  her  grandfather 
leaned,  and  was  speaking  to  some  of  those  who  were  near, 
stood  at  this  moment  exactly  under  it.  I  raised  a  cry  of 
terror, — "  Take  care  !  the  sconce  falls  !"  All  glanced  in 
affright  upwards ;  but  with  the  speed  of  lightning  Bruno 
darted  forward  and  lifted  Serena  out  of  danger,  in  the  same 
instant  that  the  splendid  chandelier,  with  its  sixty  lights 
and  thousand  lustres,  fell  with  a  deafening  thunder.  Bruno 
himself  received  a  heavy  blow  on  the  head.  He  turned  pale 
and  staggered.  "Bruno!  Bruno!"  cried  Serena,  with  the 
unmistakable  and  heart-rending  tone  of  love,  and  caf  ght 
him  in  her  arms  as  he  fell  to  the  ground.    He  threw  his 


TEA5rSISK:A  WERNER  TO  MARIA  M. 


343 


arms  round  her,  and  pressed  lier  to  Hs  bosom ;  a  blissful 
smilcj  like  a  sunbeam,  appeared  on  his  countenance  as  he 
sunk  and  became  unconscious. 

It  is  not  to  be  described  what  a  sensation  this  created  in 
the  company.  In  one  moment  a  misfortune,  a  declaration  of 
love,  and  a  death,  or  what  most  perfectly  resembled  it ! — 
one  might  lose  his  senses  with  less  than  this.  I  confess  that 
I  know  little  of  what  now  took  place,  till  I,  a  moment  after- 
wards, found  myself  in  a  still  and  dimly -lighted  chamber. 

Bruno  lay  upon  a  sofa.  He  had  been  bled,  but  had  not 
yet  returned  to  consciousness.  Bear  stood  chafing  him,  and 
looked  quite  grim.  Ma  chere  mere  supported  his  head  on 
ber  lap  ;  she  was  silent,  but  the  tears  streamed  from  her  blind 
eyes,  and  rolled  slowly  over  her  colourless  cheeks.  'Not  far 
distant  sate  Madame  Dahl,  and  Serena  lay  before  her  on  her 
knees,  and  hid  her  face  in  her  bosom  ;  their  arms  were  thrown 
round  each  other.  The  old  gentleman  stood  near,  his  eyes 
rivetted  on  his  child ;  and  I  stood  also  by  them,  speaking  con- 
soling words  to  the  nearly  unconscious  Serena. 

"Where  is  she?"  exclaimed  Bruno,  awaking  out  of  his 
death-like  stupor,  but  not  yet  perfectly  in  possession  of  his 

senses.    "  Ah  !  where  is  she  ?    I  had  her  in  my  arms  she 

was  mine  it  was  so  beautiful. — Thus  let  me  die  ! — Serena," 

exclaimed  he,  still  more  passionately,  "  where  art  thou  ?  

My  bride,  wilt  thou  let  the  world  separate  us  ?  The  world, 

— men, — what  are  they  to  us?  We  stand  now  in  the  choir 
of  the  temple  of  Grod,  and  the  angels  sing  over  us  the  bene- 
diction of  the  Most  High.  Whither  art  thou  fled  ?— Oh ! 
thou  hast  taken  my  heart  away  with  thee,    Now  is  my  bosom 

so  empty.    Serena,  come  back !  Grive  me  my  life  again, 

Serena!" 

"Oh,  that  is  dreadful!  dreadful!"  whispered  Sorena,  but- 
embraced  more  closely  the  support  whose  support  she  was. 
Bruno  had  now  raised  himself.  He  now  saw  Serena,  and  the 
rest ;  and  with  a  vehemence  which,  whether  it  were  the  re- 
mains  of  the  confusion  of  his  senses,  or  proceeded  from  his 
own  fiery  nature,  would  now  burst  through  every  obstacle  to  its 
goal,  I  know  not ;  but  he  exclaimed, — "  Ah  !  I  see,  I  see  how 
it  is.  You  would  conceal  her;  you  would  separate  her  from 
me  I  But  why  would  you  do  this  ?  Wherefore  would  you 
ecparate  two  hearts  which  have  been  already  united  froii; 


TU£  yZIGHBOURS. 


t  iieir  cbildliooc?  ?  Do  it  not.  Rather  make  i  _.is  Jay  a  day 
of  blessing.  (Bruno  was  now  perfectly  awake.)  Oh !  give 
me  to-day  Serena  as  my  bride." 

"  This  is  not  the  proper  monieut  to  speak  of  such  matters," 
interrupted  the  old  man,  half  angry,  half  in  emotion ;  an- 
other time  " 

"  And  why  not  now  ?"  interposed  Bnino,  more  vehemently, 
intensely,  irresistibly.  "  Why  not  this  evening  make  my  life 
blessed  ?  Why  not  already,  to-day,  bind  me  to  you  by  ever- 
lasting gratitude  ?  Oh !  to-day,  to-day,  give  me  Serena !  I 
will  not  take  your  darling  from  you, — let  my  house  be  yours  ; 
let  me  partake  with  her  the  care  of  your  old  age.  Dear 
mother,"  continued  lie,  while  he  seized  Madame  Dahl's  hand, 
and  bathed  it  with  his  tears,  "good,  venerable  mother,  fear 
nothing  for  your  child  ;  and  as  you  have  experienced  that  the 
a5*ection,  truth,  and  reverence  of  a  husband  make  the  felicity 
of  a  wife,  give  me  to-day  Serena '" 

The  two  old  people  looked  at  each  other,  and  at  Serena. 
She  stood  between  them,  white  as  the  roses  in  her  garland, 
^vith  downcast  eyes,  evidently  desiring  to  kneel,  and  offer 
herself, — but  at  which  altar  r    That  was  the  question. 

A  pause  ensued ;  and  now  arose  Ma  chere  mere,  pale, 
solemn,  but  not  proud,  and  thus  spoke :  "  Every  one  acts 
best  in  his  own  affairs,  and  therefore  I  ought  perhaps  to 
abstain  from  inteiference  in  this ;  but  as  the  mother,  I  will 
now  say  one  word  for  my  son.  I  have  tiU  now  done  very 
liule  to  make  him  happy,  and  it  is  very  little  that  I  can  yet 

do,  since  "    Ma  chere  mere  laid  her  hand  on  her  eyes, 

while  she  obviously  contended  with  her  emotion.  She  soon 
began  again,  with  firmer,  though  with  a  softer  tone.  "I 
speak  not  to  persuade  you,  my  honoured  friends  and  neigh- 
bours ;  I  will  only  tell  you  this,  that  my  son  has  of  late  made 
me  rich  amends  for  that  in  which  he  offended  me  in  his  youth. 
It  is  my  belief,  my  persuasion,  that  he  moreover  will  do  ho- 
nour to  his  country,  that  he  deserves  the  best  of  wives,  and 
that  in  every  respect  he  will  make  her  happy.  My  son  has 
long  made  me  the  confidant  of  his  affection,  and  has  received 
my  approbation  and  blessing  thereon.  So,  my  dear  friends 
and  neighbours.  I  will  merely  say  that,  if  you  see  good  to  give 
your  granddaughter  to  my  son,  it  is  my  opinion  that  you  will 
act  wisely  and  welL    And  for  the  happiness  that  you  will 


FRAXSISKA  vrEB>-ZR  TO  MAEIA  M.  3*i5 

thus  bestow  upon  my  sod,  shal'  I,  his  mother,  to  my  latest 
davs  be  thankful  to  the  Lord,  and,  next  to  the  Lord,  to 
you." 

Ma  chere  mere's  words  are  nerer  without  their  effect ;  and 
in  this  moment,  as  she  stood  blind  and  almost  beseeching — 
for  this  expression  lay  in  her  unusually  soft  tone — in  this 
moment  her  words  made  a  deeper  impression  than  ever. 
Another  circumstance  must  also  have  operated  on  the  old 
Dahls.  Serena  had,  although  involuntarily,  given  a  public 
evidence  of  her  love  for  Bruno.  It  was  perfectly  evident  to 
them  that  the  embrace  which  tinited  them  would  on  the  fol- 
lowino:  day  be  circulated  through  the  city  and  the  whole 
country  round.  Bruno  liad  withdrawn  himself  a  step  or 
two  :  he  seized  the  hand  of  his  mother,  and  conveyed  it  to  his 
lips.  The  old  Dahls  took  that  of  Serena,  and  said — Vilt 
thou,  wishett  thou,  to  be  his,  Serena  P  li\'ilt  thou  I'vdaj — 
now — give  him  thy  hand 

"Yes!"  whispered  Serena's  lips:  "oh,  my  parents  if 

you  are  willing  if  you  allow  it  yes!" 

"  Xow  tfien  in  God's  name,"  exclaimed  the  old  man, 
Bruno  Mansfelt  receive  the  hand  of  your  bride !" 

"  Serena  mine !"  cried  Bruno  with  a  voice  that  went  through 
heart  and  soul,  and  sprang  to  her.    The  old  people  yet  heM 

her  back.    "  Take  her  then  make  her  happy !"  said  they, 

with  a  voice  which  trembled  with  emotion.  "  She  is  our 
youngest,  dearest  child — the  joy  of  our  old  age ;  she  never 
acted  contrary  to  our  wishes."  Tears  fell  on  their  withered 
cheeks,  and  their  trembling  hands  held  Serena  yet  fast. 
"Bemove  her  not  far  from  us — let  her  close  our  eyes  for  us 
— be  worthy  of  her — love  her — make  her  happy  !" 

"  Happy  !"  exclaimed  Bruno,  as  he  took  her  almost  forcibly 
from  her  parents,  and  clasped  her  to  his  bosom  ;  "  happy  !  as 
Bure  as  I  hope  through  her  for  God's  mercy."  Bruno  led 
Serena  to  his  mother,  and  said — "  Bless  us,  my  dear  mother." 
Ma  chere  mere  nearly  forgot  her  wonted  stately  solemnity, 
and  with  a  voice  broken  with  emotion  blessed  her  children. 
Hereupon  Bruno  clas^ped  her  in  his  arms,  and  for  some 
seconds  let  his  head  rest  on  her  bosom.  It  was  beautiful  to 
see  them  thus  stand.  Afterwards  Ma  chere  mere  and  the 
old  Dahls  gave  each  other  their  hands,  and  some  eordiai 
words  were  on  both  sides  sjioken.    "  And  now  to  the  an* 


346 


THE  NEIGHBOURS. 


nouncement,"  exclaimed  tlie  old  man,  who  seemed  to  desire 
to  dissipate  his  feelings.  "  To-day  must  all  joys  be  common, 
Oome,  my  wife  ;  come,  my  dear  children.    Listen  there,  good 

friends  without ;  friends,  relatives,  listen  !  My  friends," 

cried  the  old  man  with  a  cheerful  voice,  "  I  have  now  to  an» 
nounce  to  you  a  betrothal ;  and  to  beg  your  good  wishes  foi 
my  granddaughter  Serena  and  her  bridegroom  Bruno  Mans* 
felt!"    It  was  as  if  another  chandelier  had  fallen.  Never 

probably  were  the  inhabitants  of  the  good  city  of  W  

within  the  space  of  one  hour  so  overwhelmed  with  astonish- 
ment. This  moment  a  declaration  of  love  and  a  death-blow 
— the  next  resurrection  and  betrothal. 

A  loud  murmur  of  amaze  and  of  congratulation  went 
through  the  multitude.  But  I  beheld  that  not  all  coun^^ 
tenances  were  congratulatory.  I  saw  long  and  dissatisfied 
faces  ;  and  I  believe  that  Bruno  perceived  it  too,  for  his  dark 
eyes  flared  for  a  moment  like  two  lightning  flashes  scruti- 
nizingly  through  the  assembly  ;  the  thunderbolt  on  his  fore- 
head stood  sharp  ;  the  eyebrows  drew  threateningly  together  j 
and  he  changed  colour.  Ma  chere  mere  stood  forw^ard,  and 
intended,  I  fancy,  to  make  a  speech ;  but  I  felt  the  necessity 
of  sparing  this  to  Serena  and  Bruno,  and  on  that  account 
sprang  out,  and  exclaimed  bluntly — "  Now,  God  be  praised 
now  I  see  the  prospect  of  another  Grolden  Marriage ;  and  I 
hope  in  fifty  years  to  be  able  to  wish  you,  Bruno  and  Serena, 
heartily  as  much  happiness  as  now  !" 

My  forwardness  had  a  good  eflect.  Ma  chere  mere  let 
fall  her  idea,  and  so  many  congratulations  came  crow^din-g  in 
between,  that  she  never  took  it  up  again.  In  the  mean  time 
I  stole  out.  I  had  said  "  Grod  be  praised!"  but  yet,  falsa 
soul,  I  did  not  think  so.  I  felt  excited,  frightened,  and  filled 
with  gloomy  forebodings.  I  sought  Bear  ;  he  sought  me ; 
and  we  met.  "What  is  amiss  with  thee?"  said  he,  and 
looked  at  me  with  terror.  "  Ah !  Bear,  I  am  uneasy,  unwell, 
ill.  Now,  indeed,  they  are  betrothed !  Ah !  don't  make 
such  horrible  faces !    It  is  not  a  laughing  matter  !" 

"  I  don't  laugh  at  that,  but  at  " 

"  At  me,  very  likely  !  It  were  better  tliat  you  gave  me  a 
remedy  for  palpitation  of  tlie  heart.  Bear !  they  are  be* 
fcrothed !  She,  the  good,  the  angelically  pure,  and  he,  the 
'  ah  !  it  caiiiiot  be  well !    They  will  not  be  happy.  WKa< 


FRANS.SKA  WEKNER  TO  MAEIA  M 


347 


will  be  the  end  of  it  ?  Bruno  is  certainly  not  worthy  of  her 
He  is  only  half  human  ;  and  will  he  ever  become  wliolly  so  ?" 

"Without  giving  me  any  reply,  Bear  led  me  into  that  cabinet 
in  which  Bruno  had  now  received  Serena's  hand.  He  sate 
himself  gravely  down ;  tore  a  leaf  out  of  his  pocket-book  ; 
took  his  pencil,  and  I  asked,  "  "Wilt  thou  write  a  poem  r 
Then  it  is  certainly  the  death  of  me  !" 

"  I  am  writing  a  prescription  for  thee,"  added  he  with  the 
same  phlegm. 

He  wrote  out  and  gave  me  these  words  to  read,  "  Men  who 
do  not  believe  the  Word,  are  by  the  society  of  women  saved 
without  the  Word." 

"  Bear,"  said  I,  as  I  embraced  him,  "  thou  art  the  best  and 
wisest  doctor  in  the  world!" 

"  It  is  never  so  far  between  the  mountains,  but  that  one 
may  meet  with  ghosts,"  cried  Ma  chere  mere  at  the  door. 
"  Listen,  my  children  !  you  have  not  yet  wished  me  joy,  and 
yet  I  fancy  that  it  would  repay  the  trouble.  I  have  now 
gained  another  amiable  daughter  ;  I  am  a  happy  mother  ;  sit 
down  beside  me,  and  let  us  talk  of  the  future  couple." 

We  did  so.  Ma  chere  mere  drove  with  her  plans  far  into 
the  future  ;  and  the  pictures  which  she  saw  were  distinct.  It 
appeared  to  be  with  her  as  with  many  who  are  blind ;  as  the 
vision  of  the  body  is  darkened,  that  of  the  mind  becomes  so 
much  the  clearer  and  more  cheerful.  There  we  sate  plea^ 
eantly  together  till  supper.  This  was  served  on  various  little 
tables  in  three  rooms.  At  the  table  where  the  Patriarchs 
sate,  were  also  Bruno  and  Serena,  Ma  chere  mere,  Lagman 
Hok,  the  Clergyman,  Bear,  I,  and  some  others.  W^e  were 
tolerably  still  during  the  great  part  of  the  meal,  and  I  began 
to  fancy  that  this  feast  would  pass  over  without  Ma  chere 
mere  having  made  a  speech  in  honour  of  it.  But  after  the 
turkey,  Lagman  Hok  raised  his  glass,  and  begged  permission 
to  drink  a  skal.  All  were  attentive  ;  and  with  a  low  voice, 
and  a  mild  but  confident  gaze  fixed  on  the  Patriarchs,  he  thus 
spoke: — "  Lyres  and  flowers  were  woven  into  the  mat  on  which 
our  honoured  friends  this  evening  heard  the  words  of  blessing 
pronounced  over  them.  They  are  the  symbols  of  harmony 
and  felicity,  and  these  are  the  Penates  of  the  house.  That 
they  surrounded  you,  venerable  friends,  in  this  festive  hour 
we  cannot  regard  as  a  mere  accident.    I  seemed  to  under. 


348 


THE  NEIGHBOTTRS. 


stand  their  mute  language,  and  as  if  I  heard  them  say  tc 
you,  *  "We  are  here  at  home.  You  have,  during  your  union, 
so  welcomed  and  cherished  us,  that  we  can  never  more  forsake 
you.    Your  age  shall  be  like  your  youth  I'  " 

The  beautiful  toast  was  hailed  with  universal  joy,  and 
drunk  to  the  touched  and  smiling  Patriarchs.  "  Now !  bear 
that  Hok  there !"  said  Ma  chere  mere,  and,  as  if  struck  with 
an  electrical  shock,  she  jogged  my  arm,  saying,  "  Fill  my 
glass  !"  pushed  back  her  chair  with  a  great  noise,  coughed, 
and  spoke  as  follows  : — "  Love  is  more  than  bow  and  spear. 
Love  pierces  through  shield  and  mail.  Love  finds  out  uner- 
ringly the  way  !  It  brought  the  first  human  pair  together,  it 
will  also  bring  together  the  last.  My  friends,  may  we  all  be 
guided  by  it  through  life  !  For  genuine  love  is  not  German, 
French,  nor  Swedish  ;  it  is  not  indeed  of  the  earth,  it  is 
heavenly  ;  and  offers  us  here  the  hand,  in  order  to  conduct 
us  to  the  great  marriage  yonder  above.  The  man  and  wife 
who  here  united  in  true  love,  and  in  true  love  walk  together, 
"will  there  sit  beside  each  other.  And  well  may  I  to-day  say 
with  the  mother  of  King  Lemuel,  '  Ah  !  thou  son  of  my  life, 
to  whom  a  virtuous  wife  is  given,  she  is  far  more  noble  than 
the  most  precious  pearls,  she  will  make  sweet  to  thee  all  the 
days  of  thy  life.'  My  eyes  are  become  dark,  but  my  heart 
sees  light  in  my  son's  future,  aud  on  that  account  rejoices 
with  great  joy  as  I  now  drink  skal  to  my  son  and  his  be- 
trothed, and  at  the  same  time  skal  to  his  future  parents,  my 
valued  friends  and  neighbours." 

Bruno  generally  looks  fidgety  when  his  mother  commences 
a  speech,  but  now  this  feeling  was  expelled  by  another ;  and 
he  regarded  her  with  a  look  so  full  of  love  as  I  had  never  yet 
seen  in  him. 

"  What  will  Bear  say,"  thought  I,  when  we  had  drunk  the 
skal  proposed  by  Ma  chere  mere,  "  now  it  is  his  turn  ?  and 
he  is  really  no  orator." 

To  my  great  consternation  he  said — "Now  it  is  my  wife's 
turn ;  I  will  drink  the  concluding  skal." 

"  Horrible  Bear !"  thought  I,  quite  confounded.  I  col- 
lected myself,  however,  and  said — "  Love  never  grows  old  ;  a 
skal  for  the  oldest  and  the  youngest  pair  in  the  company." 

"  Bravo,  Fransiska  !"  cried  Ma  chere  mere. 

Now  foU'^wed  the  skals  so  thick  and  fast  on  each  other  that 


TEANSISXA  WEENEB  TO  MAEIA  M. 


849 


I  kept  no  exact  account  of  them.  I  longed  that  the  turn 
might  come  to  Bear  ;  but  it  never  came,  for  now  drew  near 
the  company  from  the  other  tables  and  rooms,  one  after  the 
other  with  brimming  champagne  glasses,  and  speeches  were 
made,  skals  drunk,  and  some  truly  beautiful  verses  for  the 
occasion  sung,  which  gave  the  old  Dahls  great  pleasure; 
and  with  all  this  Bear  and  the  concluding  skal  were  forgotten. 
The  whole  company  arose  from  table  with  a  general  thunder 
of  hurrahs  !  I  did  not  omit  to  upbraid  Bear  with  his  shabby 
escape  from  the  toast ;  but  he  protested  that  he  had  really 
prepared  a  very  long  and  very  poetical  speech,  which  he 
wished  especially  to  retain  to  the  end,  that  he  might  put  to 
the  skal  drinking,  as  it  were,  its  crown  ;  and  that  he  lamented 
sorely  that  the  company,  and  pre-eminently  myself,  had  suf- 
fered the  loss  of  it.  I  begged  him  at  least  to  favour  me  with 
the  beginning  of  it ;  but  he  replied,  that  he  was  no  friend  to 
beginnings  without  endings,  and  that  the  time  would  not  now 
admit  of  the  latter,  and  that  I  did  not  seem  sufl&ciently  to 
hold  his  oratory  in  honour  to  listen  worthily  to  it,  and  so  on. 

Immediately  after  supper  the  English  dance  commenced. 
It  was  most  lively,  and  no  one  danced  so  actively  and  lightly 
as  Miss  Hellevi  Husgafvel.  With  the  English  dance,  accord- 
ing to  Serena's  prudent  arrangement,  the  festivities  were  at 
an  end,  exactly  at  midnight ;  for  she  feared  a  later  hour 
would  too  much  fiitigue  her  grandparents.  The  lo^"^g  cere- 
mony of  expressing  thanks  and  taking  leave  was  exhausting 
enough,  although  it  was  enlivened  by  much  cordiality.  In 
the  very  moment  when  the  hall  swarmed  with  people  like  an 
ant-hill  —  ladies  who  were  wrapping  themselves  in  their 
cloaks,  gentlemen  who  were  hunting  their  caloshes — Ma 
ehere  mere  fell  on  one  of  her  merry  whims.  Already  muffled 
in  her  "  Januarius  "  and  her  wolf's-skin  shoes,  she  asked  for 
a  violin,  and  played  vigorously  an  animated  Polska.^  Every- 
body was  startled ;  but  in  the  next  instant  came  a  sort  of 
dance-madness  over  them  all.  They  danced  in  cloaks  and 
great-coats ;  they  sprang  hither  and  thither,  across  and 
around :  it  was  all  laughter  and  merriment.  They  danced 
in  the  hall,  they  danced  on  the  steps  ;  they  had  much  ado  to 
leave  off  dancing  in  the  very  street. 

•  A  popular  Swedish  dance,  full  of  wild  activity. 


350 


THE  KEIGHBOTJES. 


During  the  general  rush  and  chaos  of  joy,  I  stole  forth  to 
Bee  where  were  Bruno  and  Serena,  for  they  were  not  amongst 
the  rest.  I  went  from  room  to  room ;  and  in  one  of  the  most 
remote,  where  the  tumult  of  the  dancing  came  but  as  a  soft 
murmur,  I  beheld  two  figures,  a  dark  and  a  light  one.  The 
dark  one  was  Bruno  ;  he  kneeled  before — the  light  one — 
Serena;  and  she  stooped  towards  him,  and  said  softly — 
"  Thou." 

"  Thou!"  a  beautiful  word.  I  seemed  for  the  first  time  to 
understand  its  full  harmony,  and  I  hastened  away  to  say  it 
immediately  to  Bear ;  and  so  well  had  I  hit  the  tone  and 
expression  of  Serena,  that  he  instantly  understood  me,  and 
said  also  to  me — "  Thou!" 

Ma  chere  mere  had  played  the  last  couple  out,  and  now 
called  for  me  loudly.  Exactly  as  I  entered  the  lobby,  which 
was  full  of  people,  my  eye  fell  again  on  the  same  dark  figure, 
with  the  same  gloomily  flaming  eyes,  which  had  terrified  me 
on  entering  the  house,  but  again  drew  back ;  and  as  in  sudden 
zeal  I  determined  to  follow  it,  to  make  certain  that  my  sus- 
picions were  right,  I  was  stopped  by  Bear,  who  is  as  careful 
of  me  as  the  Israelites  were  of  the  Ark,  and  does  not  wish  me 
to  fall  into  the  han  ds  of  the  Philistines.  With  an  "  Ah !"  in 
my  heart,  I  followed  Ma  chere  mere  into  the  carriage.  Tet 
burnt  the  lights  and  flamed  the  cressets  along  the  streets. 
Ma  chere  mere  could  discern  their  glimmer,  and  was  in  high 
spirits,  and  talkative.  Many  a  pithy  proverb  issued  from  her 
mouth,  in  honour  of  this  remarkable  day.  She  concluded  a 
long  speech  in  praise  of  the  old  Dahls  with  these  three : — 
"It  is  not  so  easy  to  leap  into  Grod's  kingdom."  "  He  that 
will  gather  roseSj  must  not  be  afraid  of  the  thorns."  "  He 
that  sows  virtue,  reaps  a  good  name." 

CHAPTEE  XXIII. 

W  ,  February  8th. 

Yesterday  was  a  great  ball  at  the  Town  Hall,  which  the 
city  gave  in  honour  of  its  Patriarchs.  "  Thou  must  go  to  it," 
said  I  to  Bear.  "  I  must  not  go  to  it,"  he  replied :  I  mean 
to  stay  at  home  and  dance  a  pas  de  deux  with  my  wife."  I 
Diade  at  first  some  objections,  but  was  obliged  to  yield ;  and 


FRA^fSISKA  WERNER  TO  MARIA 


851 


in  the  joy  of  oui-  hearts  we  actually  danced  a  minuet,  to 
which  I  sang,  and  Bear  hummed  the  bass.  I  then  sat  down 
to  work  on  my  little  propliets — you  already  know  what  thia 
name  signifies, — Eear  opened  his  conversation-box,  which 
always  rejoices  me  greatly,  and  out  of  his  copious  treasures 
of  the  experience  of  life  and  men,  he  brought  forth  many  a 
precious  sample.  I  have  written  down  some  of  his  relations, 
and  will  send  them  to  thee  another  time.  It  is  a  great  hap- 
piness, Maria,  when  in  a  good  husband  one  also  possesses  a 
piece  of  good  company.  At  the  Dahls  the  wedding  is  already 
talked  of ;  Bruno  drives  on  with  his  love,  and  his  arrant  wil- 
fulness— he  must  pardon  the  expression.  It  is  already  de- 
termined that  it  shall  take  place  in  May,  and  that  my  good 
friend  Mattea  shall  take  Serena's  place  with  the  old  Dahla 
Serena  will  divide  herself  between  Eamm  and  her  grand- 
parents. She  is  the  most  amiable  bride,  and  at  the  same 
time  the  good  friend  and  the  same  excellent  daughter  as  be- 
fore. She  is  still  the  same  shy  woman  that  she  was  before  the 
betrothal,  and  Avill  probably  as  a  wife  continu_e  equally  so ; 
yet  her  behaviour  to  Bruno  is  so  fascinating  that  it  compels 
him  almost  to  worship  her.  What  else  shall  I  say  of  Bruno  ? 
He  is  good,  and  not  good  ;  happy,  and  not  happy :  day  and 
night,  sunshine  and  storm-clouds,  continually  alternate  in 
him.  He  appears  to  me  to  be  like  a  man  who  feels  that  he 
does  not  deserve  his  happiness,  and  therefore  is  partly  at 
strife  with  himself,  and  in  part  fears  that  his  happiness  will 
be  plucked  from  him.   May  I  be  incorrect  in  my  opinion  ! 

The  other  day  he  came  into  Serena's  room,  when  I  was 
there ;  but  she  was  absent.  He  said  a  few  words  to  me,  but 
soon  appeared  to  forget  that  I  was  in  the  room.  He  looked 
at  Serena's  books,  her  paintings,  her  sewing  apparatus,  with 
a  kind  of  painful  tenderness  ;  he  looked  around  the  room, 
and  said  softly,  as  to  himself,  "  Innocence  !  purity!  peace  !" 
He  took  a  little  light  green  silk  handkerchief  which  Serena 
often  wears,  kissed  it,  and  hid  his  face  in  it ;  he  then  rose 
hastily  and  went  out.  I  looked  at  the  little  shawl ;  it  was  wet 
with  tears.  "  Peace!"  said  Bruno,  and  sighed  so  deeply,  so 
painfully.  Ah !  peace  he  has  not.  He  cannot  be  absent 
from  Serena ;  but  in  her  company  he  cannot  find  peace.  He 
comes  and  goes  continually — two  or  three  times  a  day.  He 
manifests  a  love  for  her,  whose  vehemence  he  moderates  only  for 


852 


THE  -^TEIGHBOTTltS. 


her  sake ;  lie  heaps  presents  upon  her,  which  she  accepts  only 
for  his  sake  ;  but  his  disquiet  obviously  grieves  her.  "  What 
the  d — 1  is  this  for  a  riving  and  driving !  I  don't  see  the 
use  of  it,"  muttered  Bear  just  now,  on  this  subject.  "  It  is 
far  better  to  sit  quietly  and  eat  one's  sweet  groats,  is  it  not  ?" 
said  I,  as  I  set  a  dish  of  steaming  groats  on  our  supper-table. 
"  Yes,  when  one's  own  little  sweetest  of  wives  eats  with  one." 
I  was  quite  satisfied  with  the  politeness,  though  it  breathed 
somewhat  of  a  groat  warmth.  But  even  this  warmth  must 
be  cherished  and  esteemed;  without  it  the  myrtle-tree  of 
wedlock  does  not  flourish  in  the  North  here. 

February  12th. 

A  horrible  event  has  occurred  at  the  Dahls.  A  night  is 
since  then  passed,  yet  my  hand  still  trembles  so  that  I  can- 
not guide  my  pen  with  steadiness.    Ah,  my  forebodings  ! 

Last  evening  Bear  and  I  were  with  our  friends.  Bear  sat 
with  the  old  people ;  Serena  and  Bruno  w^ere  in  the  next 
room.  I  also  was  there.  I  sat  at  the  piano,  and  played  some 
sacred  pieces  which  I  had  recently  received.  By  degrees  I 
played  lower,  and  made  longer  pauses  ;  for  I  caught  words 
which  ri vetted  my  whole  attention.  Bruno  had  been  this 
evening  in  an  unusually  gloomy  mood,  and  I  heard  Serena, 
who  sat  by  him,  ask  him  what  w^as  the  cause  of  it,  with  that 
tone  of  genuine  tenderness,  with  those  sweet  affectionate 
words,  which  woman's  love  dictates  ;  and  he  answered  : 

"  I  had  last  night  a  wretched  dream,  the  memory  of  which 
still  oppresses  me." 

"  A  dream  ?" 

"  Yes,  a  dream.    Shall  I  relate  it  to  thee  ?" 
"  Yes,  certainly." 

"  Well  then,  Serena,  I  dreamed  that  thou  wert  my  wife. 
Thou  wert  my  own,  the  companion  of  my  life,  the  half  of 
myself,  and  I — was  not  happy.  Years  had  flown  over ;  thou 
wert  mine  ;  I  loved  thee,  as  now,  and  if  possible,  still  more. 
We  had  enjoyed  quiet  days  ;  we  had  already  often  beheld 
the  sun  set,  and  the  stars  rise  over  the  Helga  lake ;  in  the 
shade  of  night  I  had  enclosed  thee  in  my  arms,  I  had  reposed 

on  thy  bosom,  but  I  was  not  happy.    I  dreamed  that  it 

was  again  evening.  The  stars  arose,  one  after  tl^e  other, 
and  mirrored  their  quiet  beams  in  the  quiet  waves  ;  tlie  heaven 


TRANSISKA  WERNER  TO  MARIA  M. 


353 


was  clear,  and  the  wood  lay  still  and  brooding.  Thou  wert 
mj  wife ;  thou  wert  in  my  arms  ;  but  I  bad  not  peace. 
There  was  in  my  heart  a  dull  pain,  as  of  festering  wounds — 
for  the  soul,  Serena,  can  have  such  wounds ;  but  of  this  thou 
knowest  nothing ;  and  to  still  the  agony,  I  pressed  thee  to 
my  heart,  but  it  was  only  the  more  torturing.  I  seem  to 
feel  it  yet — lay  thy  hand  here,  Serena  !" 

Bruno  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and  then  proceeded. 
"  There  was  a  change.  I  found  myself  alone  in  the  park  at 
Eamm.  I  chased  a  stag,  and  my  hounds  pursued  him  with 
open  bloodthirsty  mouths.  I  also  was  thirsty,  I  seemed  to 
thirst  for  blood.  Over  hill  and  dale,  through  wood  and 
meadow,  drove  furiously  the  chase.  It  was  a  wild  hunt. 
From  glen  to  glen,  from  thicket  to  thicket,  I  pursued  the 
flying  stag.  Hours  flew  by  ;  the  stag  sped  on — I  followed — 
the  dogs  howled  in  incessant  eagerness,  it  seemed  as  if  the 
chase  never  would  come  to  an  end.  The  hounds  grew  weary  ; 
I  wearied  not ;  my  horse  tired,  but  I  spurred  him  forward ; 
a  demon  chased  me,  and  I  chased  the  stag,  and  ever  more 
burning  grew  my  thirst. 

"  For  a  moment  the  chase  ceased ;  I  had  lost  sight  of  the 
stag ;  but  as  I  emerged  from  a  thicket,  I  suddenly  saw  him 
stooping  at  a  brook  to  drink.  He  was  not  far  from  me,  but 
thirst  and  weariness  overcame  fear,  he  stood  still  and  drank. 
I  shot  him  down.  The  report  of  the  gun  gave  new  life  to  my 
dogs,  they  sprung  forward,  seized  the  legs  of  the  stag,  and 
entangled  his  antlers  in  the  bushes.  I  flung  myself  from  my 
horse,  and  flew  to  give  my  victim  his  death-stroke.  Already 
I  held  my  knife  at  his  throat,  when  he  turned  on  me  his 
beautiful,  dying  eyes,  full  of  tears,  and  gazed  on  me  with  a 
sorrowful  and  reproachful  look.  I  felt,  as  it  were,  a  dagger 
thrust  into  my  heart ;  and  dumb  and  gloomy  I  looked  into 
those  eyes  which  every  moment  became  more  human.  At 
length — O  horrible !  I  saw  that  those  eyes  were  thy  eyes, 
Serena, — it  was  thou  whom  I  had  murdered.  It  was  thou, 
who  thus  gazed  on  me !  Almighty  God !  if  ever  thy  look  " 

"Bruno  !  Bruno     Serena  tenderly  and  much  excited,  ex- 
claimed— "  why  talk  in  this  manner  ?    It  was  but  a  dream 
aud  a  truly  hateful  and  irrational  dream.    Look  at  me,  Bruno  ; 
no,  turn  not  thy  eyes  away ;  look  at  me,  and  see  that  never, 
never  can  such  a  gaze  from  my  eyes  fall  on  thee.    Ah  !  that 


854 


THE  NEIGHBOURS. 


tliou  didst  but  truly  know,  truly  feel  how'  mipossible  it  is ! 
Hear,  Bruno !  T  have  also  a  dream  to  reiate,  and  a  dream  of 
truer  augury  than  thine.  I  dreamed,  Bruno,  that  the  world 
was  frozen,  frozen  to  ice.  There  was  no  more  sun,  no  green- 
ness on  the  earth,  no  blue  in  heaven ;  in  their  stead  was 
black  and  empty  space.  Magnificent  palaces,  woods  and 
mountains  stood  yet,  but  were  converted  into  ice.  Strange 
and  fearful  lights,  whose  origin  men  did  not  see,  and  which 
diffused  no  warmth,  but  on  the  contrary  threw  long  and 
hideous  shadows,  wandered  about  amongst  the  ice-forms. 
All  life  was  destroyed ;  two  human  creatures  excepted,  nj^Bb 
yet  breathed  with  warm  and  beating  hearts  in  this  marble 
world ;  and  these  two,  Bruno,  were  thou  and  I.  Solitarily 
we  glided  through  long  colonnades  of  ice, — we  touched  not 
the  earth,  but  yet  were  not  in  a  condition  to  raise  ourselves 
above  it.  Our  future  was  to  be — slowly  to  freeze,  the  last 
of  all  living  creatures. 

"  Thy  heart  was  bitter,  my  friend,  and  thy  cheek  was  pala 
As  the  lights  came,  and  threw  menacing  shadows  against 
thee,  thy  arm  was  stretched  out  as  to  do  battle  with  them, 
and  thy  voice  raised  wild  reverberations.  But  in  the  midst 
of  this  congealed  world,  in  the  midst  of  this  night  of  horror? 
and  of  death,  I  felt  a  warmth  in  my  heart  which  no  ice  and 
no  time  appeared  able  to  extinguish.  There  was,  as  it  were, 
a  springing  fountain  of  life  in  it,  which  diffused  itself  through 
my  whole  being,  and  endowed  me  with  a  higher  strength 
than  I  had  possessed  in  the  sunny  vernal  days  of  the  earth. 
I  loved  thee  more  intensely  than  ever,  Bruno  !  It  was  to  me 
a  genuine  joy,  with  thee  and  for  thee  to  suffer ;  and  as  thy 
heart  became  quiet  and  warm  on  mine,  and  thy  cheek  less 
pale,  then  I  felt  an  assurance  that  it  was  given  to  me  to  offer 
my  life  for  thine,  and  with  the  warmth  of  my  heart  to  defend 
thee  against  the  cold  and  the  horror-shapes  of  darkness.  I 
felt  myself  in  this  thought  so  happy,  so  perfectly  happy,  that 
I  awoke.  My  dream  was  at  an  end,  but  clearly  did  I  feel 
that  which  I  had  experienced  in  my  vision !  and  I  have  felt 
it  often,  and  still  feel,  that  I  would  wish  to  bear  a  great  pain 
for  thee,  because  I  could  then  make  thee  better  understand 
how  sincerely  I  love  thee." 

"  O  Q-od!"  said  Bruno,  with  a  soft  voice,  but  with  an  ex- 
pression of  agonised  pain,  "  0  God !  how  little  do  I  deserve 


FRANSISKA  WERNEB  TO  MARIA  M. 


855 


a  love  like  this  how  unworthy  Serena!  thou  sweet 

angel !  thou  who  shalt  be  my  wife  " 

Never  shall  she  be  it!"  cried  a  wild  piercing  voice,  and 
Hagar,  more  like  a  fury  than  a  woman,  darted  into  the  room 
A  dagger  flashed  in  her  hand — in  the  next  instant  it  seemed 
sheathed  in  Serena's  heart.  But  with  the  speed  of  lightning 
Bruno  had  seized  Hagar' s  arm  ;  the  blow  was  turned  aside, 
and  the  dagger  only  wounded  Serena's  shoulder.  "With  the 
gesture  of  a  madman  Bruno  wrenched  the  murderous  weapon 
from  Hagar' s  hand,  pushed  her  fiercely  back,  seized  with  one 
hand  her  hair,  and  the  steel  glittered  above  her  breast. 
"Wretch!"  he  exclaimed,  with  a  hollow  voice  and  white 
lips — "  curse  of  my  life !  die !" 

"Bruno!  O  my  God!"  cried  Serena,  as  she  sprung  for- 
ward and  hung  on  his  arm.  Bruno  moderated  his  fury,  his 
wild  look  became  more  composed,  his  lips  murmured — "A 
woman!"  and  the  dagger  fell  from  his  hand.  He  looked  at 
Serena,  saw  her  blood  flow,  caught  her  in  distraction  in  his 
arms,  and  bore  her  to  a  sofa. 

"  Thy  will  shall  be  done !"  cried  Hagar  wildly.  "  See 
here,  Bruno,  thy  victim ; — it  would  only  die  at  thy  feet !" 
She  ran  to  him ;  plunged  the  dagger  into  her  own  breast, 
and  fell  before  him  drenched  in  her  blood.  "  Bruno,  for 
thee!  for  thee!"  muttered  her  lips;  then  were  silent;  and 
her  eyes  closed. 

It  was  the  work  of  a  moment.  It  was  horrible,  but  still 
more  horrible  that  which  followed.  Bruno's  despair  was 
mute  and  gloomy.  The  old  Dahl  tore  his  grey  hair,  and 
cried,  "  My  child!  my  child!"  Bear  only  retained  his  self- 
possession  ;  he  alone  restored  order  and  reflection.  "  It  is 
but  a  scratch  ;  there  is — upon  my  life  ! — no  more  danger  for 
her  than  for  me,"  said  he  to  the  grandparents,  as  he  addressed 
himself  to  bind  up  her  wound.  Serena,  however,  pushed  back 
his  hand,  and  pointing  to  Hagar,  who  lay  there  motionless, 
cried,  "Help  her!  help  her!  she  needs  it  more  than  I." 
But  Bear  would  not  leave  her  till  she  was  bandaged,  and 
then  he  begged  me  to  conduct  her  with  the  weeping  old 
people  into  another  room. 

^  Hagar,  who  was  supposed  to  be  dead,  soon  however  showed 
Bigna  of  life ;  was  laid  on  a  bed,  and  committed  to  the  care  of 
Bear.    With  the  greatest  presence  of  mind  Serena  ordered 

22 


856 


THE  NEIGHBOURS. 


iverything  which  was  necessary  for  her  accommodation,  and 
Appeared  to  forget  that  she  herself  had  suffered.  She  sought 
with  the  tenderest  words  to  quieten  the  old  people,  and 
stopped  their  mouths  with  kisses,  when  they  atte::ipted  to 
cast  reproaches  on  Bruno.  "  We  really  know  nothing  yet,'* 
said  she,  interrupting  them  beseechingly  ;  "  we  cannot,  we 

Duist  not  yet  judge.    Let  us  wait,  Bruno  will  explain  all  

all  m.ay  yet  be  well."  On  this  she  went  to  Bruno,  who  stood 
there  sunk  in  gloomy  reverie,  and  said,  "  Gro  back  this  evening 
1 0  Ramm,  Bruno,  and  come  again  to-morrow.  Then  we  shall 
all  be  more  composed.  Gro,  my  dear  friend,  now,  but  return 
in  the  morning,  and  then,  if  thou  canst,  satisfy  my  parents, 
and  us  all." 

"  Serena  !  and  thou  ?  and  thou  ?  "  said  he,  and 

stared  at  her  agonizedly.  Serena  turned  away  her  face  to 
hide  the  suffering,  the  expression  of  which  she  strove  in  vain 
to  subdue.  "  I  believe  in  thee,"  said  she  softly,  "  goodnight, 
Bruno  ;"  and  she  covered  her  eyes  with  one  hand  while  she 
extended  to  him  the  other. 

"  Thou  turnest  away  from  me  ;  thou  wilt  not  look  at  me,'* 
said  Bruno,  with  gloomy  complaint.  Then  turned  Serena 
her  countenance  towards  him  ;  she  would  have  smiled  at  him, 
but  her  eyes  stood  full  of  tears.  Perhaps  Bruno  saw  in  this 
gaze  that  which  he  had  seen  in  his  dream,  for  he  became  like 
one  wild :  he  uttered  a  curse  upon  himself ;  struck  himself 
with  his  fist  on  the  forehead,  and  rushed  out. 

Bear  and  I  did  not  this  night  return  home.  He  sate  by 
Hagar,  who  had  fallen  into  a  violent  delirium  of  fever,  and 
now  uttered  words  of  love,  and  now  of  raving,  but  which  were 
alike  wild,  and  bore  the  impression  of  an  unregulated  and  de- 
sparing  soul.  I  stayed  with  Serena,  whose  chamber  lies  next 
to  that  of  her  grandparents,  and  tried  to  persuade  her  to  go 
to  bed,  and  to  endeavour  to  get  some  sleep.  She  consented 
to  my  request,  and  made  as  if  she  slept,  but  I  often  heard  her 
silently  weeping.  I  was  frequently  obliged  to  go  to  Hagar' s 
chamber,  to  bring  news  of  her  state.  Bear  does  not  think 
her  wound  mortal.  Ever  and  anon,  too,  the  door  of  the  old 
people's  chamber  was  softly  opened,  and  anxious  questions 
concerning  the  beloved  child  were  whispered,  and  received 
ever  consolatory  answers.  Bear  was  with  all,  growled  good- 
^•tiiredly  at  all,  comforted  all,  and  gave  them  all  some  com- 


f  KAIs^SISKA  WV^ij^EE  TO  MAEIA  M. 


357 


posing  drops.  Three  times  in  the  night  came  Bruno,  yet 
would  not  go  in,  but  asked  and  received  from  Bear  news  of 
the  condition  of  Serena  and  Hagar,  upon  which  he  went  off 
again,  as  if  driven  by  the  Furies. 

It  was  a  long  and  painful  night.  Serena  inquired  often, 
"  Is  it  not  nearly  morning  ?  Does  it  not  dawn  Ah !  she 
yearned  for  morning,  because  she  believed  that  light  and 
Bruno  would  come  together.  The  morning  came,  but  Bruno 
did  not ;  but  merely  a  note  from  him,  containing  these  wild 
and  disconnected  lines.  "  I  should  return ;  I  should  explain 
— so  thou  entreatedest  me.  Oh !  that  a  wish  of  thine  should 
from  me  remain  unfulfilled.  Serena !  I  cannot  explain — 1 
cannot  come !  Her  I  will  not  see,  and  thee  I  cannot ;  thy 
look  consumes  me ;  I  can  now  give  no  explanation.  Honour 

commands,  but  honour  also  forbids  —Hagar  can,  but  will 

not  Farewell,  adored,  and  to-be-compassionated  one,  since 

thou  lovest  me.  I  cannot  come  ;  but  I  will  surround  thee,  in- 
visibly, and  in  wretchedness.  Was  it  not  the  punishment  of 
the  outcast,  to  behold  Paradise,  but  to  see  it  closed  against 
them  with  flaming  swords  ?  Retribution,  dreadful  retribution ! 
 Pray  for  me,  Serena,  for  hell  is  in  my  heart." 

After  the  perusal  of  these  lines,  Serena  leaned  her  head 
upon  her  hand,  and  sate  long  thus,  as  it  were  lost  to  the 
world;  but  she  must  certainly  have  prayed  to  the  Eternal 
Comforter ;  she  must  certainly  have  lifted  her  heart  to  the 
Father  of  Love,  or  otherwise  her  countenance,  as  she  again 
raised  her  head,  could  not,  amid  so  much  anguish,  have  worn 
so  high  and  gentle  an  expression  of  self-denial.  Her  first 
step  was  to  her  aged  parents ;  the  first  words  which  her  lips 
after  this  blow  uttered  were  in  petition  to  these  to  have 
patience,  not  to  be  too  hasty  in  judging,  but  to  await  the 
moment  when  this  mystery  should  clear  itself  up,  and  Bruno 
should  stand  before  them  in  a  better  light.  She  communi- 
cated to  them  his  letter,  was  skilful  enough  to  turn  its  expres- 
sion to  his  advantage,  gave  a  hint  at  the  probable  solution  of 
the  mystery,  and  achieved  what  she  sought.  The  old  people 
became  more  composed,  and  left  to  her  to  manage  these  affairs. 
How  beautiful  is  such  a  confidence  between  parents  and 
children ! 

I  left  Serena  at  breakfast,  which  with  her  usual  solicitude, 
she  prepared  for  the  o^i  people,  while  she  assured  theoe 


358 


THE  NEIGHBOTJES. 


chat  she  felt  no  pain  from  her  wound,  and  that  she  should 
speedily  be  quite  well  again.  I  went  home  to  seek  rest ;  I 
was  fatigued,  but  yet  more  uneasy  and  excited  than  fatigued. 
Tn  order  to  quieten  myself,  I  have  written  to  thee,  my  Maria, 
because  to  impart  our  troubles  to  a  friend  is  for  the  heart  the 
best  of  opiates.  I  feel  already  its  beneficial  operation,  and 
will  now  endeavour  to  sleep. 

Bear  and  Serena  have  resolved  that  Hagar  shall  remain  at 
the  Dahls  till  she  either  dies  or  gets  better ;  she  could  not 
yet,  without  great  danger,  be  removed.  For  the  rest,  the 
horrible  affair  will  be  kept  as  still  as  possible,  and  especially 
will  they  endeavour  to  prevent  its  reaching  the  ears  of  Ma 
chere  mere.  Ah  !  how  will  all  this  unfold  itself  ?  I  will  tell 
thee  more  when  I  know  it. 

CHAPTEE  XXIV. 

TO  THE  EEADEE,  EROM  A  STRANGE  LADY. 

But  Madame  Werner  knows  merely  the  surface  of  the 
following  denouement.  Chance  made  me  acquainted  with  ita 
interior  existence,  and  I  now  proceed  to  lift  the  veil  from 
certain  scenes  which  at  this  time  took  place  in  Hagar' s  sick 
chamber.  Shadow-shapes  I  will  call  them,  because  they  are 
produced  by  strong  darkness  in  strong  light.  They  may  be 
compared  to  those  outline  profiles  which  one  makes  of  the 
faces  of  our  friends,  on  a  winter's  evening  by  candle-light. 
If  the  connoisseur  of  art  and  of  human  nature  be  of  opinion 
that  these  sketches  are  far  too  hasty,  and  too  little  finished  to 
deserve  a  closer  attention,  but  yet  possess  too  many  features 
of  truth  to  be  cast  aside,  I  shall  be  quite  satisfied  ;  and  begin 
quietly — 

8HAD0W-SHAPE  THE  EIRST. 

Jealousy  knocked  at  the  door  of  my  heart, 
And  cried,  "Kill!  kill!" 

In  a  hushed  room,  which  looked  into  a  garden,  lay  the  sick 
and  guilty  Hagar,  nursed  as  if  she  had  been  a  beloved  child 
of  the  house.  A  few  days  had  passed,  and  Hagar  lay  now  in 
delirium,  now  in  consciousness.  Doctor  Werner  sat  at  her 
bed-side,  regarding  with  astonishment  the  conflict  of  passions 


TO  THE  EEADER,  FROM  A  STRANGE  LADY.  359 

vrhieh  had  never  disturbed  his  own  peaceful  soul.  Besides 
him,  and  a  maid  who  waited  on  her,  Hagar  saw  no  one ;  b'Jit 
an  invisible  genius  watched  faithfully  over  her.  The  embro- 
cations which  refreshed  her  burning  forehead,  the  draughts 
which  stilled  the  pain  of  her  wound,  were  handed  to  her  by 
Serena. 

One  evening  she  lay  in  a  restless  slumber.  Serena  was 
alone  with  her,  and  stole  quietly  forward  to  contemplate  her 
for  a  moment.  "  God  be  praised !"  whispered  her  lips  ; 
"  Grod  be  praised !  thou  sleepest,  poor  and  to-be-pitied  one. 
Thou  hast  destroyed  my  happiness  ;  but  oh,  how  much  un- 
happier  art  thou !" 

Hagar  awoke.  Serena  drew  herself  hastily  back,  but  she 
had  been  observed.  "  Who  is  there  ?"  she  cried  sharply. 
Serena  was  silent,  in  the  hope  that  she  should  not  be  recog- 
nised ;  but  Hagar  continued — "  Thou  dost  not  answer,  but  I 
know  thee.  I  have  seen  thee  before  creeping  about  my  bed, 
pale  maiden,  in  order  to  suck  my  blood.  Do  not  imagine 
that  thou  canst  deceive  me.  I  know  that  I  am  in  thy  power, 
and  I  know  what  thou  wilt  do ; — thou  wilt  torment  me,  and 
take  away  my  life  with  poison.  In  punishment  of  my  crime, 
I  shall  perish  by  degrees  through  privation  of  fresh  air. 
And  on  that  account  thou  hast  taken  him  away  from  me, 
that  I  may  never  more  see  him,  never  more  hear  his  voice ; 
for  these  were  my  pleasure  and  my  life.  He  himself  has 
delivered  me  into  thy  power  to  be  tormented.  Yes,  he  and 
all  hate  me,  and  rejoice  in  my  misery :  but  I  will  deceive  him, 
and  all  of  you  ; — I  will  free  myself,^' 

While  Hagar  said  this  she  sought  for  the  bandage,  in 
order  to  tear  it  from  her  wound ;  but  Serena  flew  forward, 
seized  her  hands,  and  held  them  back  with  an  almost  super- 
natural power.  Hagar  stared  wildly  on  that  gentle  counte- 
nance, which  was  bathed  with  the  tears  of  grief  and  pity,  and 
said,  "  Will  you  preserve  my  life  in  order  to  suffer  me  to 
perish  the  more  slowly  ?" 

"  O  no !  no,  Hagar !  Mistrust  me  not;  I  wish  you  to  live.'* 

"  I  do  not  believe  it.  Thou  lovest  him  that  I  love,  him 
who  belongs  to  me — yes,  tremble,  faint — who  belongs  to  me, 
for  I  had  his  promise  before  you!    My  claims  on  him  are 

older,  holier ;  ^blood  has  sealed  them.    Ha^!  thou  wishest 

me  well !  Thou !  Awa^,  I  know  what  jealousy  is ;  this  black, 


360 


THE  NEIGHBOURS. 


black,  biacK  plague,  which  leads  to  murder — to  madness— 
which  in  solitary  hours  whispers  with  a  clear,  ghastly  voice, 
'  Kill !  kill !'    Ha,  white  maiden  !  now  becomest  thou  also 

black,  and  hatest  hu!   all  round  me  is  black,  black, 

black  

Hagar  swooned.  Serena  called  in  her  attendant;  and 
hastened,  beside  herself  with  grief,  to  her  own  chamber. 
There  she  threw  herself  on  her  knees,  and  cried,  "  O  my 
God  !  he  could  thus  deceive  me !"  All  was  dark  around  her 
now,  but  not  long. 

SHADOW-SHAPE  THE  SECOND. 
Love  is  patient  and  mild. 

Hagar,  So  you  really  do  not  desire  my  death  ? 

Serena,  No,  Hagar.    May  you  live,  and  acquire  peace. 

Hagar,  But  if  I  live  I  shall  disturb  your  peace.  If  I  live 
you  will  never  be  happy. 

Serena  (with  quiet  despondency).  I  have  already  aban- 
doned this  hope. 

Hagar.  His  beloved  you  might  have  become ;  you  would 
then  be  what  I  and  many  others  have  been ;  but  his  wife — 
never !  never !  8arah  drives  Hagar  out  of  the  house.  Will 
you  be  his  beloved  ? 

Serena  (quietly) .  No,  Hagar  ! 

Hagar,  You  are  too  proud  to  become  that ! 

Serena  was  silent. 

Hagar,  You  do  not  love  him !  you  will  sacrifice  nothing 
for  him ! 

Serena,  Ah,  yes !  my  life,  my  earthly  happiness — how  wil- 
lingly. 

Hagar,  That  is  little.  But  do  you  know  what  I  have 
sacrificed  for  him  ?  Wealth,  station,  honour,  fatherland, 
parents,  happiness, — all ! — all !  In  my  father's  house  I  could 
command  a  thousand  slaves.  I  forsook  all,  and  became  his 
slave  ;  and  on  that  account  he  must  love  me — on  that  account 

he  must  become  mine !  Who  stood  by  his  side  in  the 

bloody  fight  to  the  death  ?  Who  dared  with  him  to  scorn 
the  law  of  damnation,  if  not  I  ?  White  maiden  !  white  and 
cold  as  the  snow  on  the  mountains  of  thy  fatherland!  dost 
thou  think  that  thou  canst  tear  him  from  me  r    No !  to 


TO  THE  HEADER,  FROM  A  STRANGE  LADY. 


361 


me  will  be  come  back  ;  my  fire  streams  also  in  bis  veins. 
Peeble  one !  fear  bis  kiss ;  it  consumes.  Fly  bim,  for  be  ia 
mine  bere,  and  beyond  tbe  grave.  Ob,  my  wound  !  Goa, 
wbat  an  agony  !    Help  !  belp ! 

Serena  bastened  to  ber.  Witb  tbe  sootbing  ointment 
wbicb  Dr.  Werner  bad  prepared  sbe  dressed  tbe  wound,  and 
bound  it  up  witb  a  gentle  and  skilful  band. 

"  Tbanks  !"  said  Hagar  in  a  milder  tone,  "  tbanks  !  tbou 
art  kind." 

"  O  Hagar !  love  bim,  but  do  not  bate  me." 

"  ]S'o  ;  I  bate  tbee  no  longer.    Wbo  can  bate  tbee  ?" 

SHADOW-SHAPE  THE  THIRD. 
If  any  one  compel  thee  to  go  a  mile,  go  with  him  twain. 

Hagar  (passionately) .  If  you  wisb  me  to  live,  see  tbat  he 
comes  back.  It  were  better  to  lie  on  tbe  rack  and  enjoy  tbe 
sight  of  bis  countenance,  tban  be  in  Paradise  without  bim. 
They  tell  me  tbat  you  bave  much  power  over  bim ;  use  it 
then  to  make  him  come  back,  and  if  possible  to  forgive  me. 
Jealousy  made  me  wild ;  but  his  bate  I  do  not  deserve  ;  at 

least  not  Hagar  was  silent,  and  sunk  in  tbougbt. 

For  some  days  sbe  had  been  better  ;  Serena's  indefatigable 
care  and  gentleness  operated  like  a  bealing  balm  on  tbe  un- 
happy one. 

Later  in  tbe  evening  Serena  sate  by  Hagar  and  wrote. 
Love  and  sorrow  bovered  on  ber  lips,  which  ligbtly  moved,  ac3 
if  sbe  wbispered  tbe  words  into  the  pen ;  but  on  ber  lovely 
brow  lay  a  loftier  tranquillity  than  usual — it  was  like  tbe 
victorious  repose  of  Virtue  and  Love.  Hagar  observed  it ; 
and  in  ber  bold  and  bitter  manner  sbe  said  abruptly — "  You 
are  certainly  mucb  satisfied  witb  yourself."  Serena  blusbed, 
and  Hagar  proceeded  — "  You  value  yourself  greatly,  no 
doubt,  on  being  so  pure  and  virtuous.  You  certainly  believe 
that  you  stand  mucb  higher  than  sucb  a  wretched  creature 
as  I  am." 

No,  in  trutb  not,"  answered  Serena,  witb  a  tear  in  lie^* 

eye. 

"You  would  indeed  be  wrong  if  you  did,"  continued  s^e, 
"  for  very  dissimilar  are  our  endowments,  and  still  more  so 
j^ur  temptations." 


8G2 


THE  KElGllBOtTES. 


"  That  is  true,"  answered  Serena,  hambly. 

"What  indeed  has  he  to  boast  of  who  has  never  been 
tempted  ?  If  you  had  been  tried,  you  would  probably  have 
been  no  better  than  many  others*'' 

Serena  was  silent. 

"  Happy  are  they  whose  bosoms  are  never  shaken  with 
passions,  whose  blood  runs  softly,  whose  earliest  companions 
are  virtue  and  peace.  If  they  continue  unspotted — ^if  they 
fall  not — small  is  their  merit." 

"  You  are  right,"  said  Serena,  still  and  humbly  as  before. 
She  propped  her  head  on  her  white  hand. 

Fate  determines,  and  the  world  judges,  and  both  alike 
blindly,"  continued  she  in  her  bitterness  ;  "  and  therefore 
the  path  of  one  man  is  called  victory  and  honour,  that  of 
another  fall  and  reprobation." 

"  But  Q-od,  who  sees  in  secret,"  said  Serena,  with  a  firmer 
voice,  "  God,  who  is  more  mighty  than  fate  and  the  world, 
will  one  day  make  equal  what  here  was  unequal.  Then, 
Hagar,  will  it  often  happen  that  he  who  laboured  only  in  the 
last  hour,  will  receive  a  reward  equal  to  his  who  was  called 
in  the  first  hour." 

Hagar  raised  herself  somewhat,  and  regarded  Serena  with 
amazement.   "  What  God  lives  in  thy  soul  ?"  demanded  she  ; 

and  wherefore  such  gentle  words  to  me — to  me,  the  hated 
and  the  outcast  ?" 

"  Not  hated — not  outcast !"  said  Serena,  as  she  rose  up 
and  drew  nearer  to  the  sick  bed.  "  Oh,  no,  Hagar  !  a  milder 

udge  assuredly  awaits  thee." 

With  an  expression  of  higher  wonder,  Hagar  fixed  her 
broad  and  questioning  gaze  on  that  sweet  countenance  which 
was  now  near  her  bed,  and  looked  down  on  her  with  an 
angel's  compassion.  Serena  continued  : — "  Jealousy  has  led 
you  to  a  dark  deed,  but  your  love  is  true  and  great.  I  have 
listened  to  you,  Hagar,  as  your  soul  revealed  its  innermost 
feelings  ;  I  have  listened  in  the  hours  of  twilight  and  of 
night,  when  you  believed  yourself  alone,  and  I  have  learned 
how  you  love, — no  sordid  soul,  no  ordinary  woman,  can  love 
thus  !  Passions,  circumstances,  the  darkness  in  your  soul, 
have  led  you  astray  even  in  spite  of  yourself;  but  in  clearei 
moments,  and  now,  Hagar,  descend  into  your  heart,  and  ask 
yourself  whether  there  be  anything  which  you  would  not  sacri- 


TO  THE  READER,  FROM  A  STRANGE  LADY. 


fice  for  Bruno's  happiness  ;  whether  there  be  a  saifering  which 
you  would  not  willingly  bear  for  his  sake  ?  Is  not  your  love 
for  him  your  strongest,  yes,  is  it  not  now  the  only  deep  feel* 
ing  of  your  heart  ?" 

"  Tes!"  exclaimed  Hagar,  "  I  have  loved  him  burningly, 

inexpressibly — love  him  yet,  but  this  love  has  conducted 

me  to  crime !" 

"  And  if  you  had  pierced  my  heart,  Hagar,  and  I  now  lay 
dying  near  you,  I  would  still  say  that  the  work  of  the 
moment  will  not  condemn  the  heart  which  loves  stead* 
fastly!'' 

Hagar  gasped  for  breath.  A  refreshing  feeling  descended 
into  her  desperate  heart,  and  quenched  its  bitter  burning. 
With  folded  hands,  she  sunk  back  on  her  couch.  "  Yes,'* 
whispered  she  faintly,  "  thou  art  right !  Ah,  there  is  thus 
one  who  can  understand  me,  who  can  believe  my  words. 
Hear  me  then,  Serena,  thou  who  hast  an  angel's  gentleness 
and  an  angel's  serenity  in  thy  soul ;  hear  me  !  I  wished  not 
to  kill  thee !  No,  I  would  not  do  Bruno  such  an  injury. 
As  I  sate  in  the  dark  wood  alone,  and  jealousy  called  up 
thoughts  of  murder  in  my  soul,  I  cast  them  from  me  in  ab- 
horrence. As  I  heard  of  Bruno's  betrothal ;  as  I  saw  that 
my  fate  was  irrevocably  sealed,  I  determined  to  kill  myself; 
and  that  I  might  acquire  strength  to  do  it,  I  would  see  him 
with  thee,  with  thee  his  betrothed  bride.  Ah  !  as  I  saw  thee 
for  the  first  time,  it  went  like  cold  steel  through  my  heart ; 
then  I  felt  that  he  would  love  thee  differently  to  what  he  had 
loved  others.  I  felt  that  he  was  lost  for  ever  to  me ;  and  yet 
I  had  his  first  love,  his  first  promise.  But  to  the  matter.  I 
came  one  evening,  and  saw  you  together  ;  but  as  I  saw  thy 
head  leaned  on  his  shoulder,  as  I  heard  him  call  thee  his 
wife,  then  a  Tury  rent  my  heart  and  my  brain.  It  was 
jealousy.  My  soul  was  wild,  and  my  dagger  thirsted  for  thy 
blood,  before  it  should  cool  itself  in  my  own.  Yes,  it  was 
the  work  of  a  moment — a  dark,  dark  moment!  but  now  a 
beam  of  heaven  pierces  through  the  vale  of  night.  But  thou ! 
thou  whom  I  would  have  killed,  and  who  yet  givest  me  life, 
say  who  art  thou,  wonderful  maiden  ?  Art  thou  a  child  ot 
heaven,  sent  down  to  bring  comfort  to  the  earth,  and  who 
hast  nothing  in  common  with  its  passions  and  pains  ?  Or 
belongest  thou  to  those  forms  of  witchcraft  of  which  I  have 


THE  XEIQHBOUKS. 


heard  tell,  who  with  silver  v  oices  and  fascinating  sounds  a\!iiro 
men,  and  suddenly  change  themselves  into  shapes  of  Kell, 
and  drag  down  the  unhappy  ones  into  eternal  darkness  ?" 

Hagar's  wild  and  heated  fancy  seemed  in  this  moment  to 
be  ready  to  realise  to  her  this  horrible  metamorphosis.  With 
a  disturbed  look  she  gazed  on  Serena,  who  calmly  said : — "  I 
am  only  a  weak  woman,  to  whom,  however,  Grod  has  given 
the  grace  to  triumph  over  the  passions  and  agonies  of  the 
heart.  Read,  Hagar,  these  lines,  which  will  speedily  bring 
him  thou  lovest  back  to  thee ;  read,  and  no  longer  mistrust 
me."  Serena  gave  Hagar  the  letter  which  she  had  just 
written,  and  she  read  : — 

"  Thou  fleest  me,  Bruno  ;  thou  avoidest  our  house.  Bruno, 
return.  I  ask  it  not  only  in  my  own  name,  and  on  my  behalf, 
I  ask  it  on  behalf  of  a  person  who  can  more  readily  dispense 
with  light  and  life,  than  with  thy  presence.  Come,  Bruno, 
come  to  this  most-to-be-compassionated  one.  By  her  couch 
I  await  thee.  Let  us  together  recall  her  to  life,  or  together 
bestow  consolation  on  her  last  hours.  Let  us  be  together, 
Bruno  !  O  my  friend  !  in  the  darkness  which  at  this  moment 
surrounds  me,  I  yet  know  one  thing  with  clearness,  and  that 
is,  that  I  love  thee,  and  that  nothing  in  the  world  can  pluck 
this  feeling  out  of  my  heart.  We  can  determine  nothing  at 
this  moment  in  regard  to  our  future  relations  ;  well  then,  let 
us  leave  these  to  time,  and  have  peace  with  one  another ;  and 
should  an  obstacle  to  our  union  as  man  and  wife  arise,  that 
need  not  be  an  obstacle  to  our  being  friends.  Hagar  has 
spoken  of  claims  which  she  has  on  thee ;  of  earlier  bonds 
which  bind  thee  to  her.  If  she  has  spoken  the  truth,  Bruno, 
yet  is  my  prayer  still  the  same, — Come  back,  Bruno,  to  me 
and  to  her ! 

"  Listen,  Bruno  ;  let  us  become  children  once  more.  Let 
us  be,  as  we  were  in  the  days,  the  beautiful  days  when  we 
hailed  together  the  morning  sun  in  the  woods  of  Ramm,  and 
when  the  shades  of  evening  still  found  us  together,  full 
of  peace  and  watchfulness  for  each  other.  Dost  thou  re- 
member an  evening  when  it  became  dark  in  the  wood,  and  J 
asked  thee,  *  Art  thou  not  afraid  to  lose  thy  way  in  the  dark  ?' 
and  thou  answeredst  me,  *  With  thee  the  way  is  clear  to  me 
and  I  said  again,  'And  with  thee  I  am  never  afraid  in  tho 
dark.'    Oh,  friend  of  my  childhood !  can  it  not  be  as  it  was 


TO  THE  READEK,  FEOM  A  STRANGE  LADY. 


865 


liien  ?  Life  is  the  wood,  and  that  can  be  dark — Oh  !  I  have 
experienced  it  for  some  time — let  us  then  go  together  on  the 
dark  path,  Bruno  ;  extend  me  thy  hand  as  friend,  as  brother: 
then  will  the  way  perhaps  for  us  both  yet  become  clear. 
Listen  to  my  entreaty, — I  make  it  with  tears.  Eeturn, 
Bruno  ;  dear,  ever  dear  friend,  return  ! 

"  Thine,  Seeena." 

"With  a  trembling  hand  Hagar  gave  back  the  letter. 

Thou  lovest  him  better  than  I,"  she  said.  A  bitter  ex- 
pression passed  over  her  countenance,  and  she  drew  the 
clothes  over  her  head. 

Serena  despatched  the  letter ;  and  a  few  hours  afterwards 
Bruno  was  at  her  feet.  They  spoke  not,  but  involuntarily 
embraced  each  other  ;  and  their  hearts  were  involuntarily 
melted  together  in  one  unutterable  feeling.  From  this 
moment  Bruno  has  been  frequently  at  Hagar' s  bed-side  ;  and 
the  wild  and  bold  woman  is  in  his  presence  a  meek  and 
humble  one,  whom  a  mere  look  commands.  Bruno's  forgive- 
ness and  presence,  Serena's  kindness  and  tenderness,  her  true 
and  gentle  nursing,  have  operated  beneficially  on  her  condi- 
tion. Dr.  Werner  has  hopes  of  her  life.  Fransiska  comes 
sometimes  in  the  evening  to  visit  her  friend.  Between 
Bruno  and  these  two  accomplished  and  amiable  women  have 
arisen  conversations  of  a  high  and  noble  interest,  which 
Hagar  has  drunk  in  with  eagerness.  The  old  Dahls  also 
have  come  and  joined  them  ;  and  in  the  chamber,  in  the  very 
circle  where  so  much  material  existed  for  all  that  is  most 
unhappy  in  life,  have  grown  by  degrees,  through  Serena's 
influence,  peace,  interest,  yes,  even  pleasure,  at  least  for  the 
moment ;  and  the  circumstance  itself  which  threatened  in- 
evitably to  rend  asunder  the  bonds  of  confidence  and  love, 
has  served  only  to  entwine  them  the  stronger.  Beautiliil 
power  of  goodness,  which  desires  nothing  but  reconciliation  ; 
of  wisdom  which,  like  God's  own  wisdom,  opposes  only  to 
division  and  scattering,  a  higher  harmony,  a  profounder  order 
and  love ! 

What  effect  these  conversations  and  their  daily  association 
vrith  Serena  produced  upon  Hagar's  feeling  and  Bruno's  soul| 
we  shall  presently  see. 


366 


THE  NEIGHB0UB5. 


^1-  f 

SHADOW-SHAPE  THE  FOURTH. 

Drop  by  drop  the  still  rain  pierces 

Deep  through  the  hard  rock's  hardest  heart. — Schiller, 

The  storm  raged  without.  One  of  those  evenings  waa 
closing  in,  in  which  the  legends  of  past  ages,  of  the  wild  ex- 
ploits of  witches,  seem  almost  to  verify  themselves  ;  in  which 
the  poor  wanderer  in  the  North  frequently  loses  his  way. 
His  wife  or  an  aged  mother  misses  him  by  the  evening  fire  ; 
but  on  the  next  day  it  is  related  that  he  was  found  dead  on 
the  snow  in  the  wood. 

Hagar's  state  had  suffered  a  fresh  change.  Her  strength, 
which  for  some  time  had  gone  on  increasing,  and  therefore 
gave  hopes  of  her  recovery,  suddenly  abated,  and  w^as  followed 
by  a  condition  of  increasing  weakness.  "  It  is  not  her  wound 
only,  but  her  mind,"  said  Dr.  "Werner,  "  which  preys  on  her 
life."  It  was  now  silent  in  the  sick  chamber  ;  Serena  alone 
moved  about  in  it  with  quiet  solicitude  for  the  body  and  soul 
of  the  invalid.  These  also  were  more  composed  since  she  had 
surrendered  herself  wholly  to  her  faithful  and  gentle  nurse. 

The  icy  shower  struck  against  the  window  of  the  sick 
chamber,  and  the  tempest  tossed  the  branches  of  the  trees 
which  stood  without ;  but  within  burnt  a  lamp  still  and  clear, 
and  a  gentle  feminine  voice  read  these  words  :  "I  will  arise 
and  go  to  my  Father,  and  say  to  him,  *  Father,  I  have  sinned 
against  heaven  and  before  thee,  and  am  no  more  worthy  to  be 
called  thy  son.'  And  he  arose  and  came  to  his  father.  But 
when  he  was  yet  a  great  way  off,  his  father  saw  him,  and  had 
compassion,  and  ran  and  fell  on  his  neck  and  kissed  him." 

"  Blessed,  blessed  words !"  here  cried  a  faint  voice  from  the 
bed.  "  And  if  I  should  go  home,  like  the  prodigal  son,  should 
I,  indeed,  be  thus  received  ?    Grreat,  great  is  my  guilt." 

"  But  the  mercy  of  God  is  yet  greater,"  answered  Serena. 
"  The  prodigal  son  had  actually  wasted  his  whole  inheritance, 
but  when  he  returned  repentant,  he  was  received  in  love." 

"  Well  then  !"  said  the  invalid,  with  a  burning  heart,  "  I 
also  will  return.  To  my  earthly  father  I  cannot  return ;  he 
would  only  receive  me  with  curses,  but  I  will  arise  and  go  to 
my  Heavenly  Father/' 


TO  THE  EEA.DEK,  illOM  A  STRAKGE  LADY.  367 


SHADOW-SHAPE  THE  FLFTH. 

Love  takes  no  heed  of  boundary-line ; 

It  knows  no  measure,  knows  no  grave. — St.  Schuts. 

It  was  night,  and  the  moon  sbone  radiantly.  The  earth 
lay  deluged  in  its  beams,  so  friendly  and  so  still.  The  snow 
covering  was  gone,  and  a  wind  of  resurrection  awoke  the 
glumbering  to  the  life  of  spring.  We  will  follow  the  beams 
of  heaven's  lamp  into  Hagar's  sick-room,  and  observe  the 
forms  which  there  were  illuminated  by  them. 

They  fall  strongly  upon  a  profile  which  has  been  beautiful. 
The  features  now  are  sharp  and  harsh,  such  as  passion  and 
pain  are  wont  to  carve  out  with  their  keen  chisel.  The  eye 
which  was  wont  to  roll  wildly,  is  now  quieter.  There  is  a 
sainted  expression  in  the  wasted  countenance,  and  the  hands 
are  as  if  placed  in  prayer.    Hagar  sits  upright  in  bed. 

Near,  and  supporting  her,  stands  a  young  maiden.  Perhaps 
it  is  the  light  of  the  moon  which  occasions  her  to  look  so  snow 
white,  as  she  stands  there  like  a  lily  bathed  in  sunbeams. 
Perhaps  also  it  may  be  sufferings  which  have  chased  the 
ruddy  colour  from  her  cheeks  ;  yet  it  has  not  been  able  to 
steal  thence  the  tranquil  grace  of  her  expression,  nor  to 
change  the  delicate  and  almost  childlike  roundness  of  her 
figure.  She  is  soft,  soft  as  goodness  itself,  and  as  capti- 
vating. Her  look  is  clear,  mild — one  might  almost  say — holy. 
"Lean  more  freely  on  me,''  said  she  softly,  to  Hagar.  "It 
is  Serena !" 

In  the  shadow,  and  darker  than  it,  stood  Bruno,  his 
gloomily  frowning  gaze  ri vetted  immovably  on  these  two. 
His  breast  heavea  slowly,  but  mighty  feelings  were  battling 
within  it.  At  a  distance  from  the  bed,  in  a  tempered  and 
grey  twilight,  sate  two  aged  forms,  still,  pale,  and  resembling 
apparitions. 

Six  weeks  had  fled  since  the  evening  on  which  Hagar  had 
laid  a  violent  hand  on  her  own  life ;  and  like  a  dying  flame, 
which  now  blazes  up,  now  sinks  again,  she  had  long  hovered 
betwixt  life  and  death  ;  but  the  pangs  of  the  last  days  had 
been  great,  and  she  felt  her  end  drawing  near.  It  was  night, 
as  she,  awaking  out  of  a  protracted  state  of  unconsciousness, 
desired  an  interview  with  Serena's  grandparents;  but  when 


368 


THE  NEIGHBOUES. 


they  came,  it  was  long  before  she  was  able  to  speak.  Sup- 
ported on  Serena's  faithful  bosom,  and  embraced  by  her  arms, 
she  by  degrees  gathered  some  strength,  and  at  her  request 
the  aged  pair  drew  near.  In  brief  but  strong  expressions 
she  thanked  them  for  the  kindness  they  had  shown  her,  and 
begged  their  forgiveness  for  the  distress  she  had  occasioned 
them.  "  Now,"  added  she,  "  I  will  no  more  distress  any  one 
on  the  earth  ;  I  go  to  meet  my  last  judgment.  But  before  I 
go,  let  me  do  sacrifice  to  the  truth ;  let  me  in  some  degree 
make  restitution  for  the  evil  I  have  done.  Hear  the  cocJes- 
sion  of  a  dying  woman,  and  put  faith  in  my  last  words — I 
HA  YE  NOTHiNa  TO  CHARaE  UPON  Bruno  !  I  havc  been  the 
shaper  of  my  own  fortune.  In  my  father's  house  we  loved  one 
another  and  were  betrothed.  It  was  I  who  broke  the  vow  ; 
my  excesses  and  crimes  awoke  his  abhorrence.  I  would 
draw  him  down ;  he  fled  from  me.  I  pursued  him ;  and  it 
became  my  fate,  that  although  repulsed  and  despised  by  him, 
I  was  yet  compelled  to  love  him ;  that  I  could  not  breathe 
except  in  the  fire  which  consumed  me.  My  love  was  its  own 
punishment ;  it  has  bowed  down  my  soul,  but  it  has  also 
made  it  better.  Bruno  tolerated  me  near  him ;  endured  the 
storm-wind  which  raged  with  never-ceasing  commotion.  This 
gave  me  strength  to  live — yes,  to  hope  that  I  might  yet  re- 
gain the  heart  which  I  had  lost.  For  this  I  followed  him 
into  this  land,  in  whose  earth  I  shall  soon  rest.  Bruno 
attached  himself  to  Serena,  and  insisted  on  my  departure. 
He  offered  me  rich  gifts,  and  implored  me  to  return  to  my 
native  country.  There  was  not  merely  the  desire  but  the 
command  in  his  annihilating  words  ;  and  I  pretended  to 
comply,  but  took  my  resolution  to  perish.  My  feelings  were 
maddened.  Cold  was  the  winter  evening  on  which  I  deter- 
mined to  put  an  end  to  my  life.  Bruno  was  with  his  bride — 
I  was  alone  in  the  dark  wood ; — cold  was  the  winter  evening, 
and  on  that  account  my  blood  was  stiffened,  my  hand  be- 
numbed, and  would  not  obey  me.  I  determined  to  see  him 
and  her  together; — I  ran,  I  saw  them,  jealousy  made  me 

furious  and  the  rest  you  know.    Yet  once  more,  forgive 

— ^yet  once  more  hear  this  word  ; — I  have  nothing  of  which  to 
accuse  Bruno,  but  for  much  to  implore  his  pardon.  He 
deserves  your  granddaughter;  and  in  the  unknown  spa^e 
into  which  my  spirit  goes,  I  will  bless  him  and  her.    If  you 


TO  THE  EEADEE,  FROM:  A  STEANGE  LADY.  3G9 

can  forgive  me,  then  extend  me  your  hands,  that  I  may  press 
them  to  my  lips.  If  yon  pardon  me,  tell  me  that  you  will  not 
prevent  this  union,  which  my  crime  threatened  to  dissolve  ; 
give  to  the  repentant  and  the  dying  this  last  consolation  !" 

Hagar  was  silent.  The  two  old  people  extended  their 
hands,  and  spoke  to  her  words  of  reconciliation  ;  and  on  this, 
as  Hagar  appeared  faint,  they  sofbly  withdrew.  Hagar  lay 
for  a  moment  in  unconsciouness  ;  but  speedily  revived,  turn- 
ing her  expiring  eyes  towards  Serena,  and  said :  "  And  now 
let  me  thank  thee,  thou  pure,  thou  clear  fountain,  which 
mirrors  itself  in  the  heaven  of  Grod.  Tor  my  bitter  words 
thou  gavest  me  kind  ones ;  for  the  suffering  which  I  oc- 
casioned thee,  thou  hast  ameliorated  and  sweetened  my  last 
hour.  Tliou  hast  offered  refreshing  liquids  to  my  lips  ;  thou 
hast  poured  the  oil  of  compassion  into  my  wounded  heart ; 
thou  hast  taught  me  the  holy  nature  of  love ;  hast  effected 
that  gentle  feelings  now"  rule  in  my  soul ;  that  yet  at  the  gate 

of  death  I  can  hope.  Serena,  Bruno,  give  me  your  hands  ! 

that  I,  who  would  have  separated  them,  may  now  unite  them ; 
that  I  may  pronounce  a  blessing  over  them,  before  my  lips 
are  silenced  for  ever  !" 

Serena,  silently  weeping,  extended  her  hand,  but  Bruno 
stoou  immoveable.  "  He  will  not!"  exclaimed  Hagar,  with 
pain  ;  "  he  fears  the  blessing  which  my  lips  would  pronounce  ; 
he  abhors  me  even  to  death  !" 

"It  is  not  so,  Hagar,"  said  Bruno,  mildly,  as  he  laid 
lightly  his  hand  on  her  violently  labouring  breast,  "  have 
peace  with  me,  even  as  I  have  with  thee.  Thou  hast  been 
dear  to  me,  and  in  this  moment  thou  art  so  still." 

"Have  everlasting  thanks  for  these  words,"  exclaimed 
Hagar,  vehemently :  "  O  speak  them  once  more  ;  say  that 
thou  forgivest  me." 

"Who  am  I,  that  I  should  forgive  thee?"  said  Bruno, 
gloomily.  "  What  right  have  I  to  appear  better  than  thou  ? 
We  have  both  erred;  both  stand  before  the  Eternal  Eye, 
alike  in  need  of  pardon  and  mercy." 

"  IN'o,  not  alike!"  asserted  Hagar.  "Wast  it  not  I  who 
conducted  thy  fiery,  inconsiderate  youth  to  deeds  wherein 
thy  heart  had  no  participation  ?  Was  it  not  I  who,  like  a 
Berpent,  wound  myself  about  thy  tree  of  life,  and  infused 

2  A 


370 


THE  2TEIGHB0TJES. 


poison  into  its  sap  ?  Thou  it  was  who  awoke  in  me  a  human 
spark ;  that  which  bound  me  to  thee  was  neither  thy  beauty 
nor  thy  bravery,  it  was  the  flame  of  a  higher  life,  which  again 
and  again  flashed  forth  from  the  tempestuous  night  of  thy 
existence.  In  vain  would  men  burn  thy  strength  to  ashes  ; 
like  the  Phoenix,  thou  arose  from  the  pyre,  shook  the  ashes 
from  thy  pinions,  and  soared  towards  the  ligli  t.  So  didst  thou 

fly  before  me,  and  I  remained  in  the  dust ;  but  now  ^it  is 

so  dark !  Now  I  die  with  pleasure,  since  I  know  that  my 
death  is  good  for  thee ;  yet  hear  this  one  prayer.  In  the 
park  at  Ramm  is  a  grotto ;  there  I  have  often  rested — it  is 
cool  and  still;  let  me  there  be  buried.  And  hear; — my 
coffin  stands  in  thy  house ;  it  has  imbided  the  atmosphere  of 
thy  house,  where  thou  breathest, — lay  me  in  that.  Ah  !  thy 
hand  does  me  good ;  let  it  there  rest  till  that  heart  is  still. 
Farewell,  Bruno  !  I  sink  into  the  dark,  still  night — and 
with  me  the  past !  Mayest  thou  be  happy  with  thy  young 
bride, — with  me  all  is  at  an  end  !" 

Hagar  was  silent.  Her  hands  dropped  from  those  of 
Erano,  her  bosom  became  still,  and  the  great  apparition  of 
life — Death,  spread  over  her  features  the  veil  which  no  mortal 
can  raise.  She  had  ceased  to  breathe.  The  beams  of  the 
moon  grew  dim,  and  the  dawn  of  Easter  morning  spread  its 
uncertain  light  through  the  chamber,  and  its  ruddy  glimmer 
hovered  over  the  pale  corpse.  A  solemn  stillness  prevailed 
long  around  her. 

"  Dead  !"  at  length  exclaimed  Bruno  with  a  hollow  voice,  aa 
he  stooped  over  Hagar,  and  was  visibly  shaken  with  agonized 
feelings — "  dead — because  she  loved  me  !  Who  ever  became 
happy  in  loving  me  ?  To  whom  did  I  ever  give  joy  ?  1  have 
darkened  the  life  of  my  mother  ; — here  lies  the  betrothed  of 
my  youth  ;  and  ye,  unhappy  victims,  whose  existence  I  have 
blighted,  you  also  rise  up  to  accuse  me !  It  is  just !  Te  pale 
shapes,  come  and  place  yourselves  between  me  and  her  who 
should  be  my  wife, — for  I  am  not  worthy  of  her.  I  will  not  de- 
ceive her, — I  will  not  steal  into  her  heart  with  a  lie  ; — ^no,  no 
one  shall  love  me,  no  one  follow  me,  except  this  spirit  of  evil 
which  accompanies  me  through  life.  I  believed  that  Serena 
would  drive  him  forth. — Ah !  this  angel-look  oppresses  me, 
#111  d  plunges  me  still  deeper  my  usurped  heaven  would 


TO  THE  EEADEE,  FROM  A  STRANGE  LADY. 


871 


become  my  curse!    No,  I  will  fly  fly  1  will  "  A 

com^ilsive  agitation  shook  Bruno,  and  the  fixed  eye  showed 
that  he  was  no  longer  master  of  himself. 

Bruno !  Bruno  !"  cried  Serena,  with  tenderness  and  pain, 
as  she  approached  him.  "  Away  !"  said  he,  sternly  and  wildly. 
"  Away !  my  love  brings  misfortune  with  it.  Come  not  with 
thy  pinions  too  near  the  flame  of  the  burning  gulf.   Fly !  fly  !" 

"  Bruno,"  said  Serena,  while  spite  of  his  menacing  gestures 
she  drew  near,  and  threw  her  arm  round  his  neck,  "  talk  not 
so  wildly.  Be  gentle — be  still.  Thou  art  unwell,  Bruno; 
come,  compose  thyself.  Sit  down  here  by  me  ;  lean  on  me, 
my  Bruno.  I  am  still  thy  Serena, — thy  bride, — who  loves 
thee  so  tenderly;  who  will  follow  thee  through  joy  and 
trouble." 

The  tension  of  Bruno's  spirit  gave  way ;  his  look  became 
gentler  ;  he  breathed  more  softly.  "  Speak,  angel-voice, 
speak !"  said  he, 

"  Thou  hast  watched  too  much ;  thou  hast  exhausted  thy- 
self," continued  Serena,  tenderly  and  caressingly;  "now 
thou  must  take  a  little  repose.  I  will  watch  thee  while  thou 
sleepest ;  and  then  we  will  go  out  together,  and  behold  the 
sun — the  delicious  vernal  sun,  which  gives  joy  and  life  to  all 
creation.    It  will  be  a  lovely  day,  my  Bruno  !" 

Serena's  childlike  sweet  words,  and  the  testimony  of  her 
love,  laid  the  demon  in  Bruno's  soul.  He  calmed  himself, 
and  appeared  to  awake  out  of  a  painful  dream.  With  a  look 
of  inexpressible  affection  and  inexpressible  anguish  he  gazed 
on  Serena.  "  Oh  !"  said  he  with  tearful  eyes,  "  never  did 
the  harp  of  David  more  soothingly  charm  the  frantic  spirit 
to  rest.  But,  Serena,  tell  me,  what  have  I  said  ?  what  have 
I  done  ?  and  tell  me  also  what  thou  hast  thought  of  it  ?" 

"Thou  wert  ill,  Bruno;  but,  thank  Grod!  thou  art  now 
better,  and  all  is  well." 

"  No  !  with  me  all  is  not  well,  Serena ;  for  know,  that  the 
frenzy  of  which  thou  hast  been  a  witness  is  no  strange  guest 
with  me.  In  the  activity  of  the  day — in  the  silence  of  the 
night — it  surprises  me,  till  I  can  again  rise  into  mastership, 
over  it.  Seest  thou,  in  the  moment  in  which  my  mother  laid 
the  curse  upon  my  head,  my  spirit  received  a  wound  which 
since  then  has  never  healed.  Wild  deeds  and  memories  have 
prevented  it.    Oh,  long  have  I  yearned  to  lay  myself  at  thy 

2a2 


872 


THE  NEIGHBOTTBS. 


feet  wii  ii  my  terrible  secret !  but  my  strength  has  failed  iDai 

— strength,  perhaps  for  ever  but  now  is  the  hour  come ! 

Turn  thy  pure  gaze  away,  Serena !" 

Bruno  described  in  rapid  but  graphic  words  his  first  aber- 
rations. "  My  brother's  manly  kindness,"  said  he,  "  snatched 
me  from  the  dangerous  and  destructive  path.  For  a  moment 
I  thought  to  begin  a  new  and  better  life ;  perhaps  should 
have  done  it,  had  not  the  consequences  of  my  first  digressions 
dragged  me  down.  I  was  early  become  a  secret  gambler.  I 
had  seduced  into  the  same  course  a  young  man  of  my  ac- 
quaintance— I  was  the  cause  of  his  misfortunes  ;  and  in 
order  to  rescue  him,  I  had  recourse  anew  to  forbidden  means. 
My  theft  was  discovered — discovered  by  my  mother !  She 
would  punish  me  severely — perhaps  too  severely  ;  but  no,  I 
deserved  it.  But  I  would  not  submit  myself ;  I  met  force 
with  force  ;  I  opposed  my  mother  and  she  cursed  me !" 

At  these  words  Bruno's  voice  trembled ;  he  paused  an 
instant,  and  then  proceeded. 

"  I  fled  the  same  night,  my  heart  possessed  with  furies, 
which  have  since  then  never  quitted  me.  I  went  into  foreign 
service,  and  earned  wounds  and  honour.  When  the  war  was 
ended,  I  fell  into  connexions  which  fettered  my  heart,  and 
confounded  the  remaining  ideas  of  right  and  goodness  which 
I  had  brought  with  me  from  the  maternal  home.  Loaded 
with  the  curse  of  my  mother,  and  bearing  in  my  bosom  a 
storm  of  unbridled  passions,  I  sought  to  gratify  these  ;  I 
sought  to  forget  that  I  had  a  home,  a  mother,  a  native  land  ; 

to  forget  that  I  was  cursed !  ah  !  that  was  an  icy  feeling 

in  my  heart  which  drove  me  continually  deeper  into  the  fire 
of  perdition.  The  men  with  whom  I  was  now  surrounded, 
the  desire  of  gain,  the  very  danger  with  which  the  enterprise 
was  attended,  drove  me  to  that  which  I  shall  for  ever  repent ; 
— I  became  a  dealer  in  men,  a  trader  in  human  souls !  I 
tore  the  children  of  Africa  from  their  huts ;  I  tore  with  vio- 
lence husband  from  wife,  mothers  from  their  children,  and 
carried  them  as  slaves  to  the  Portuguese  colonies.  Men — 
my  brethren — I  sold  for  gain  !  They  who  then  exerted  a 
powerful  influence  over  my  mind  had  represented  to  me  these 
unhappy  people  as  destitute  of  all  moral  worth, — yes,  as  ac- 
tually ranking  below  the  beasts.  A  terrible  circumstance 
opened  my  blinded  eyes;  let  me  now  pass  it  over  in 


TO  THE  READEE,  TEOM  A  STRANGE  LJUDT.  873 

Pilence  ;  I  could  not  relate  it  with  equanimity.  Enough 
from  tliat  moment  I  abandoned  my  bloody  trade.    Again  1 
changed  name  and  country. 

"  To  forget  and  to  enjoy  were  now  more  than  ever  the  im- 
pelling objects  of  my  life.  At  the  faro-table  I  wooed  For- 
tune, and  she  was  auspicious.  One  evening  I  won  a  heavy 
sum  from  a  very  young  man.  Grold  lightened  round  me,  and 
blinded  my  eyes ;  but  the  ashy  ghastliness  of  desperation 
which  overspread  the  countenance  of  my  opponent  as  he  left 
the  room,  recalled  me  to  reflection.    Perhaps  he  had  a  mother 

who   I  hastened  out  after  him.    I  would  give  him  back 

all  that  he  had  lost.  I  ran  up  the  pitch-dark  street,  and 
called  the  name  of  the  unfortunate  youth,  which  I  happened 
to  know.  A  flash  and  a  report  were  the  answer  to  my  call ; 
fragments  of  the  brain  of  the  unhappy  man  flew  to  my  very 
feet.    He  was  the  only  son  of  a  destitute  widow  ! 

"  I  abandoned  the  faro-table ;  I  sought  to  repair  in  some 
degree  the  evils  which  I  had  perpetrated ;  I  sought  to  ame- 
liorate the  burdens  of  those  classes  of  men  against  whom  I 
had  transgressed.  But  what  is  the  benevolence  of  the  gam- 
bler ?  It  is  like  the  alms  of  the  robber — it  is  a  blood-penny ! 
No  atonement  can  thence  arise  to  the  heart.  I  felt  it — I 
sought  love.  Love,  I  imagined,  would  enable  me  to  forget 
the  past,  and  enjoy  the  present,  I  plunged  into  love,  and 
sank  into  the  arms  of — no,  holy  love,  not  into  thy  arms — but 
in  those  of  voluptuousness  was  my  life  consumed.  I  per- 
suaded myself  that  I  loved — I  was  deceived.  I  deceived 
others,  and  revelled  in  excess  after  excess.  But  as  the  waves 
fled  the  lip  of  Tantalus,  so  fled  peace  and  enjoyment  from 
me.  During  fifteen  years  I  had  probably  moments  of  wild 
pleasure,  but  not  one  hour  to  which  I  would  say — ^  Eemain!' 
not  a  day  to  which  I  would  address  the  petition — '  Come 
again  !'  An  inexpressible  emptiness,  which  nothing  appeared 
capable  of  filling — a  consuming  thirst  after  something,  I 
know  not  what — reigned  in  my  soul.  At  times,  in  more 
tranquil  hours — yes,  even  in  those  of  the  wildest  enjoyment 
— came  before  my  spirit  an  image  whose  fascinating  and  yet 
agonizing  effect  ou  my  heart  it  is  impossible  lor  me  to  de- 
scribe. All  that  my  years  of  childhood  had  possessed  ot 
innocent  and  beautiful — all  that  I  had  at  times  dreamed  of 
heaven  and  its  peace — appeared  to  blend  themselves  into  one 


874 


THE  KEIGHBOUK». 


shape ;  and  that  shape,  Serena,  wore  thy  features.  Thence 

arose  in  my  soul  an  ineffable  longing  and  despair. 

"  Once  more  I  tore  myself  from  my  effeminate  and  disso- 
lute career,  I  sought  to  employ  my  life,  which  oppressed 
me,  in  a  widely-extended  and  systematic  activity.  I  launched 
into  speculations  of  commerce ;  they  prospered,  and  I  be- 
came rich.  But,  ah  !  my  heart  still  remained  poor ;  and  in 
the  midst  of  my  superfluity  my  soul  hungered.  It  was  at 
this  period  that  my  affairs  conducted  me  to  England.  I 
heard  Canning  address  the  representatives  of  a  great  people 
for  the  abolition  of  the  slave  trade,  for  liberty,  and  the  good 
of  mankind,  I  saw  on  his  brow  the  glory  of  an  immortal 
beauty  ;  and  for  the  first  time  I  comprehended  the  moral 
worth  and  the  true  nobility  of  man,  and  the  baseness  of  my 
former  life.  O  Serena  !  then  did  I  bewail  the  days  and  the 
vigour  which  I  had  wasted!  But  I  was  still  young;  yet 
eould  I  begin  what  ?  An  outcast,  a  son  with  the  ma- 
ternal imprecation  on  his  head,  what  good  can  he  commence  ? 
what  blessings  can  he  receive  from  ab^ve  ?  I  was  cursed  ! 
That  was  the  brand  which  was  stamped  on  my  forehead — the 
stone  which  lay  upon  my  life,  and  doomed  it  to  eternal  dark- 
ness. What  angel  could  roll  the  stone  away  ?  Oh,  long  did 
my  soul  wrestle  in  benumbing  despair ;  for  my  mother  is  the 
only  being  whom  I  have  ever  feared.  Often  since  my  child- 
hood had  our  spirits  contended;  but  she  had  always  tri- 
umphed, had  always  cast  mine  down.  Bitterness  grew  in 
my  heart ;  but  long  years  passed  away,  and  love  came  back 
into  it,  and  grew  and  overspread  all  the  bitterness.  The 
thoughts  of  reconciliation  with  her  were  the  only  thoughts 
in  my  soul.  This  reconciliation  was  the  condition  of  a  new, 
of  a  better  life  ;  without  it  the  whole  world  was  nothing  to 
me.  I  had  no  hope ;  but  if  I  would  live,  I  must  dare.  So 
powerfully  had  this  feeling  laid  hold  on  my  being,  that  I  was 
physically  enfeebled  by  it ;  at  the  very  word  ^  Mother,'  I 
could  weep  like  a  child. 

"  I  came  back  :  I  saw  my  paternal  home  again  ;  I  saw  also 
thee,  Serena ! — the  paradise  of  my  childhood,  my  revelation  of 
heaven,  the  object  of  my  desire,  the  reformation  of  my  life  and 
being, — I  saw  all  this  in  thee.  "Wonder  not  that  my  arms 
extended  themselves  longingly  to  secure  thee;  wonder  not 
that  when  I  saw  myself  an  outcast  from  the  maternal  bosaia, 


TO  THE  EEAJ)EIt,  FROM  A  STEANaE  LADY. 


375 


I  sought  to  acquire  througli  tliee  the  blessedness  of  life  and 
love — sought  to  win  an  angel  for  my  distempered  souL 
There  hovered  at  this  moment  a  doom  over  me,  on  which 
depended  more  than  mere  life  and  death ;  it  was  reconcilia- 
tion, or  the  eternal  perdition  of  my  soul.  There  lay  a 
thunder-cloud  on  my  heart  and  brain  ;  I  neither  saw  nor  felt 
clearly.  It  was  then  that  I  tempted  thee,  Serena;  thou 
withstoodest  me,  and  I  believed  that  I  loved  thee  less ;  but  I 
deceived  myself ;  thou  hadst  sunk  only  deeper  into  my  spirit, 
and  wert  become  one  with  its  good  genius.  But  this  I  did 
not  then  feel ;  my  mind  was  dark. 

"  A  moment  of  wild  desperation  passed  over,  and  I  became 
reconciled  to  my  mother.  I  rested  my  head  on  her  bosom,  I 
heard  her  bless  me  !  Almighty  God  !  rich  in  mercy,  would st 
thou  weigh  out  to  me  against  this  moment  a  hundred  years  of 
Buffering,  yet  could  I  lift  my  hands  to  thee  as  now,  and  thank 
thee  for  this  moment !  Words  cannot  express  its  value  ;  it 
has  saved  me  both  in  time  and  eternity. 

"  What  shall  I  say  further  to  thee,  Serena  ?  Although 
reconciled  with  my  mother,  and  loving  her  more  intensely 
than  ever,  I  felt,  after  the  first  moments  of  heavenly  blessed- 
ness, no  rest  in  my  heart.  Thee,  thee  must  I  win.  Thou 
must  become  my  wife,  if  I  must  enjoy  peace  on  earth.  I 
sought  to  win  thee  in  the  way  which  thou  thyself  hadst 
pointed  out  to  me — I  was  rejected.  It  was  not  wounded 
pride,  Serena,  which  induced  me  for  a  long  time  to  absent  my- 
self from  your  iiouse ;  no  but  I  descended  into  myself,  and 
endeavoured  to  renounce  thee.  It  was  in  vain !  a  nameless, 
irresistible  power  drew  me  back  to  thee  ;  there  was  a  bond 
between  us  which  seemed  to  me  to  be  twined  by  God  him- 
self. Thou  wert  mine !  Oh,  moment  of  transport !  of  god- 
like blessedness !  Thou  wert  mine — and  life  was  renovated, 
the  past  was  forgotten,  aU  was  atoned  for  and  purified.  Oh  ! 
]  it  was  but  for  a  moment ;  the  Furies  speedily  raised  them- 
V  selves  again  in  my  heart — the  chastening  goddesses  of  memory; 
and  thy  acquiescence,  thy  pure  glance,  became  to  me  piercing 
reproaches.  I  was  not  worthy  of  thee,  every  day  made  me 
more  sensible  of  it ;  and  doubly  unworthy  I  felt  myself,  that 
I  would  draw  thee  down  into  a  life  of  whose  darkness  thou 
wert  ignorant ;  for  in  vain  would  I  delude  myself — never  can 
I  be  at  rest ;  nevei  can  the  blessedness  of  a  pure  heart  dwelj 


376 


THE  NEIGHBOURS. 


in  my  bosom.  What  has  been  done,  cannot  be  undone ; 
there  are  circumstances  in  my  life  which  never  can  be  for- 
gotten ;  remembrances  which  will  pursue  me  to  the  grave  1 
O  Serena!  tliy  innocent  hand  should  not  be  laid  in  on6 
stained  with  so  many  crimes ;  thou,  the  pure,  the  blessed, 
shouldst  not  stand  in  connexion  with  him  on  whom  secretly 
lies  the  bann  of  expulsion  from  civil  society ;  at  least  thou 
oughtest  not  to  surrender  thy  youth,  thy  beauty,  thy  wo- 
manly virtue,  to  a  deceiver.  This  has  of  late  become  per- 
fectly clear  to  me.  It  has  become  clear  that  if  I  abused  thy 
confidence,  and  made  thee  unhappy — and  happy  never  can 
the  partner  of  my  days  and  nights  be — then  indeed  must  I 
become  an  eternal  reprobate.  These  thoughts  have  long 
agitated  me.  Hagar's  crimes  and  thy  virtues,  thy  conquest 
over  me  and  her,  have  brought  them  to  maturity.  I  love 
thee  now,  Serena,  as  highly  and  sacredly  as  I  before  loved 
thee  wildly  and  egotistically,  and  therefore  I  have  unveiled 
my  soul  before  thee,  as  before  its  eternal  Creator.  The  altar 
has  not  yet  united  us,  thou  canst  yet  separate  thyself  from  me  ; 
canst  yet  withdraw  thyself.  Thou  art  at  this  moment  free  ; 
and  if  thou  rejectest  me,  yet  shall  no  complaint,  no  reproach 
pass  my  lips.  If  thou  also  turnest  thyself  away  from  me,  I 
will  yet  love  and  honour  thee,  and  will  go  on  my  own  solitary 
and  dreary  path,  as  well  as  I  may. 

"  Thou  hast  spoken  of  friendship  ;  of  brother  and  sister ; 
pardon  me,  if  I  rend  away  this  illusion  of  an  angellically  pure 
heart.  It  cannot  be  so  between  us.  God  created  our  souls 
of  far  different  natures  ;  in  mine  burn  flames,  of  which  thou 
knowest  nothing ;  I  must  possess  thee,  or  fly  thee  ;  but  if  I 
fly  thee,  Serena,  I  shall  yet  carry  thy  image  in  my  bosom,  and 
it  will  make  me  a  better  man.  I  am  not  alone — I  have  a 
mother.  I  will  live  for  her,  should  it  even  be  without  pleasure 
or  enjoyment.  Yet  let  me  add  but  one  word.  I  have  hoped, 
Serena,  thou  whom  I  alone  have  ever  truly  loved, — to  be 
able  to  begin  on  thy  bosom,  on  thy  angel's  heart,  a  new  and 
better  life.    I  believed  that  the  better  germs  in  my  soul 

would  unfold  themselves  under  thy  protection  and  who 

can  say  what  the  heart  augurs  and  who  measures  the 

strength  of  love  ?  Who  sets  bounds  to  the  mercy  of  the 
Almiglity  ?  With  thee  appeared  the  way  to  open  to  atonement 
and  a  better  life  without  thee  but  I  have  said  enou/;k 


TRANSISKi.  WEENEB  TO  MARIA  M. 


877 


Now  thou  knowest  all,  Serena, — pronounce  the  judgment  ovef 
me.  I  stoop  my  head  before  thee,  and  will  kiss  thy  beloved 
hand,  let  it  dispense  me  what  it  will — Life  or  Death." 

As  the  Serapli  Eloa,  says  the  noble  poet  of  the  Messiah,* 
descended  at  the  side  of  the  Saviour  into  hell,  and  saw  there 
the  darkness  and  misery,  its  clear  glance  became  quenched  in 
gloom.  A  feeling  like  that  of  Eloa  had,  during  Bruno's  con- 
fession, oppressed  Serena ;  and  an  indescribable  weight  lay 
upon  her  heart,  and  impeded  its  action ;  but  it  was  rolled 
away,  and  vanished.  As  the  fresh  wind  blows  away  the  fog ; 
as  the  clear  stars  come  forth  in  the  dark  night ;  as  the  glow 
of  morning  ascends  and  illumines  and  fills  all  creation  with 
splendour, — so  rose  in  Serena's  heart  the  eternal  love,  strong, 
abundant,  sweet,  and  triumphant.  In  her  soul  all  became 
lighter,  freer,  more  assured  than  ever, — there  was  no  more 
fear,  no  more  disquiet  there  ;  and  as  Bruno  ceased  to  speak, 
she  stooped  towards  him  with  silent  tears  of  affection  in  her 
eyes,  and  said, — "  I  go  with  thee,  Bruno.  O  my  friend,  my 
husband  !  it  cannot  be  otherwise.  Together  let  us  wander  on 
the  earth,  together  one  day  kneel  before  the  throne  of  the 
AU-merciful!" 

Speechless,  Bruno  clasped  her  to  his  bosom.  Light  broke 
in.  A  song  arose,  beautiful  and  peaceful,  and  embraced  the 
united  ones  in  its  melodious  waves.  It  was  the  Easter  Hymn, 
sounding  from  the  church  for  the  celebration  of  the  Eirst- 
Born  of  the  Eesurrection. 

These  scenes  are  at  an  end ;  and  with  them  my  task.  "With 
hearty  goodwill  I  surrender  again  the  pen  to  the  hand  of 
Madame  Werner !  but  just  at  this  time,  namely,  after  Hagar's 
death,  occurs  a  material  gap  in  her  correspondence,  the 
positive  cause  of  which  it  is  not  in  my  power  to  state,  and 
which  I  am  not  enabled  to  fill  up.  Thou  must  therefore, 
worthy  Eeader,  content  thyself  with  proceeding  to  the  next 
chapter. 

CHAPTEE  XXV. 

Rosen vik,  May  23rd. 

Here  again!  I  sit  alone,  and  have  despatched  Bear  tc 
Kaucm,  there  to  look  well  about  him,  and  in  the  first  place  to 
*  Klopstock. 


878 


THE  NEIGHBOTJItS. 


take  his  own  pleasure,  and  then  to  confer  on  me  that  of  hear- 
ing how  affairs  stand  after  the  wedding.  I  do  not  find  myself 
very  well.  I  am  heavy  and  dull ;  look  towards  E/amm's  grey 
walls ;  think  on  Serena,  and  long  for  Bear.  Evening  draws 
on ;  he  must  certainly  soon  appear.  I  have  not  been  well 
since  Serena's  wedding-day  :  I  was  too  much  excited. 
Bruno's  disquiet  on  this  day,  his  nearly  wild  questions  to 
Serena,  "  Wilt  thou  become  mine  in  joy  and  sorrow,  in  time 
and  eternity  ?"  what  do  they  portend  ?  "  I  will  answer  thee 
this  evening,"  said  Serena,  in  her  sweet,  sincere  manner. 
That  pacified  him ;  and  at  evening,  as  they  were  affianced, 
and  the  blessing  was  pronounced  over  them,  he  became 
changed.  A  profound  sense  of  gratitude  appeared  to  thank, 
exalt,  and  to  calm  his  spirit.  Ah  !  wherefore  this  disquietude, 
wherefore  this  pain  in  the  bosom  of  happiness  itself,  if  hia 
conscience  had  peace  ? 

But  am  I  not  wrong  to  feel  such  uneasiness  and  anxiety, 
when  I  have  witnessed  in  Bruno  so  much  genuine  love  ;  and 
in  Serena,  a  tenderness,  a  truth  and  strength,  which  ennoble 
and  embellish  everything  ?  In  the  marriage  hour  there  was 
something  in  her  which  seemed  to  elevate  their  union  above 
all  the  power  of  misfortune  and  mutability.  There  lay  a 
heavenly  serenity  on  her  pure  brow;  she  pronounced  the 
words,  "  To  love  thee  in  joy  and  trouble,"  with  such  a  beauti- 
ful and  lofty  certainty  that  I  involuntarily  pronounced  them 
again  to  Bear,  as  I  leaned  on  his  shoulder,  and  stood  there 
supported  by  his  faithful  arm.  How  the  occurrences  of  this 
day  still  hover  before  my  mind !  They  seized  powerfully,  too 
powerfully  upon  me  !  How  long  Bear  stays.  The  shadow  of 
the  trees  are  already  large,  and  the  birds  begin  their  even- 
song. Grod  grant  that  no  misfortune  has  happened  at  Bamm ! 
the  old  black  house  there  looks  like  a  place  of  ill-luck.  Why 
must  Serena  go  there  ?  Thank  Grod !  there  comes  Bear ;  I 
will  go  down  towards  the  bridge  to  meet  him. 

24th. 

FEAGMENT  OF  A  CONYERSATION  OF  YESTERDAY. 

"  Well,  Bear,  it  was  beautiful  what  thou  saidst  of  Serena, 
that  she  looked  so  amiable,  and  the  Patriarchs  so  satisfied 
Tell  me  now,  how  was  Ma  chere  mere  ?" 

"  Superb,  but  not  lively.'* 


TEAIfSlSKA  WEEKEE  TO  MAEIA  M. 


379 


"  Did  slie  make  no  speech  ?" 

"  No,  she  was  unusually  still,  but  appeared  satisfied  and 
internally  thankful." 

"  And  how  behaved  Bruno  towards  her 
"  Like  the  tenderest  of  sons." 

"  And  towards  Serena  ?  What  did  he  call  her  ?  Did  he 
look  much  at  her.  How  much  did  he  look  at  her  ?  Was  he 
much  about  her  ?  Did  he  talk  much  with  her  ?  Did  he  show 
much  attention  to  her,  much  solicitude  about  her  ? 

"  My  dear  child,  it  would  be  quite  as  well  if  thou  hadst  a 
less  '  flux  de  bouche,'  then  one  might  answer  regularly.  Now 
let  us  see,  what  was  the  first  question  !  Whether  Bruno  be- 
haved to  his  wife  as  became  a  husband  ?" 

"  Ah !  thou  art  unbearable !    Did  he  lie  at  her  feet  ?" 

"  Not  exactly.  That  would  not  have  been  quite  appro- 
priate in  so  great  a  company  ;  but  there  seemed  on  the  whole 
to  exist  a  good  understanding  between  them." 

"  A  good  understanding !  Thou  talkest  quite  pitifully. 
Perhaps  thou  wilt  think  that  I  ought  to  thank  God  that  they 
don't  quarrel  ?" 

"  That  thou  canst  not  do,  for  they  did  quarrel !" 

"  Good  gracious  !    About  what  ?" 

"  Heaven  knows  what  was  the  occasion,  but  he  said : 
*  My  sweet  Serena,  my  wife,  it  shall  be  as  thou  wilt !'  and 
she  answered,  *  No,  Bruno,  is  shall  be  as  thou  hast  said  ;  it 
is  best  so.'  " 

"  Well,  thank  God  !  How  thou  canst  frighten  one !  And 
how  did  Bruno  look  as  he  said,  *  My  wife  ?'  " 

"  How  ?  like  a  husband?" 

"  Who  adored  his  wife  ?" 

"  Why  yes  : — and  who  feels  that  he  possesses  in  her  life's 
greatest  good." 

"  See !  now  thou  speakest  beautifully,  my  Bear !  And 
then  the  dinner.  Bear?  Tell  me  now  a  little  about  the 
dinner.  Describe  me  all  the  dishes  in  succession.  Thou  dost 
not  remember  them !  Oh !  it  is  wretched  of  thee !  Yes, 
certainly  thou  rememberest  some.  Let  us  see ;  the  first 
course,  for  instance,  which  always  relishes  the  best,  what  did 
that  consist  of?" 

"  I  believe  of  chickens." 

"  Chickens  !  impossible.    Serena  cannot  have  chickens  for 


'380 


THE  NEiaHBOITRfl. 


the  first  course ;  she  must  then  have  ham  to  the  roast  meat.*^ 
Bear  laughed  at  my  zeal ;  and  after  some  other  unfortunate 
attempts  to  come  at  a  notion  of  the  dmner,  I  was  compelled  to 
give  it  up,  and  to  tell  Bear  that  he  was  an  unworthy  guest y 
and  that  I  would  tell  Serena  of  it.  In  order  to  divert  my 
attention,  and  propitiate  me,  he  conjured  up,  I  know  not 
how,  a  bottle  of  Bishop,  and  a  basket  of  splendid  preserved 
fruits,  which  he  had  brought  from  Bamm ;  compeDed,  as  he 
said,  against  his  will  by  Serena. 

I  was  quite  enchanted  with  this  little  entertainment, 
fetched  glasses,  and  we  sate  down  to  drink  healths.  We 
drank  the  health  of  the  young  couple,  the  health  of  Ma  chere 
mere,  our  own,  and  that  of  the  little  unknown.  We  got 
quite  into  a  zealous  mood  with  our  health-drinking.  We  then 
seated  ourselves  at  the  window :  it  was  a  lovely  evening,  and 
the  heaven  lay  clear  over  Ramm.  A  gleam  from  the  setting 
sun  illuminated  the  dark  wood ;  and  I  recollected  that  I  had 
once  before  seen  this,  and  had  thought  on  Serena.  I  saw 
the  shore,  before  so  dusky,  now  brightly  lit  up.  I  looked  at 
Bear,  who  did  not  turn  his  full-moon  face  away  from  me;  a 
warmth  glanced  about  my  heart,  tears  came  into  my  eyes,  and 
I  said,  pointing  towards  Bamm,  "  It  is  more  clear  there, 
Bear;  now  there  are  happy  hearts  there." 

"  No  happier  than  here,"  said  Bear,  as  he  drew  me  ten- 
derly to  him,  and  held  me  fast  on  his  knee.  The  sunshine 
slowly  died  away ;  the  shore  was  again  shrouded  in  gloom  • 
and  with  a  deep  sigh  I  added,  "  Ah  1  who  knows  how  long 
they  will  continue  happy  there  ?  God  knows  wli ether  Bruno, 
this  unquiet  spirit,  can  be  at  peace."  A  melodious  tremor 
passed  through  the  air,  and  appeared  to  answer  to  my  sigh. 
1  was  startled ;  and  we  listened  at  the  open  window.  The 
organ  at  Eamm  was  pealing,  but  not  as  formerly ;  tones  like 
those  of  Handel's  Messiah  issued  from  it.  I  leaned  my  head 
against  Bear's,  and  thus  we  sat  in  the  warm  May  evening, 
and  listened.  And  till  late  in  the  evening  the  organ  sounded 
even  more  beautifully,  more  peacefully,  as  it  seemed  to  me ; 
and  I  called  to  mind  the  last  words  of  the  Legend  of  tho 
Neck  :  "  Then  the  Neck  wept  no  more,  but  took  his  harp,  and 
played  and  sung  sweetly  till  deep  in  the  night,  for  be  now 
knew  that  he  should  be  saved.** 


FEAJNSISKA  WEENEE  TO  MAEIA  M. 


881 


25th. 

Jane  Marie  was  liere  yesterday ;  she  was  gay  and  joyous. 
I  learned  various  matters  from  her ;  and  amongst  them  some 
which  delighted  me.  Ma  chere  mere  grows  ever  more  quiet 
and  gentle,  goes  often  to  church,  and  her  proverbs  become 
ever  more  biblical.  Her  heart  seems  now  more  than  formerly 
to  desire  to  make  men  happy.  She  gives  much  to  the  poor ; 
amongst  the  rest  old  linen;  and  through  that  prepares, 
according  to  the  lively  expression  of  a  young  and  amiable 
lady,  "her  heavenly  purple."  Jane  Marie  related  a  little 
scene  between  Elsa  and  Ma  chere  mere,  which  gave  me  plea- 
sure. Ma  chere  mere  had  to-day  knocked  down  and  broken 
a  couple  of  china  cups  which  stood  on  a  table.  She  was  put 
out  of  humour  by  it.  She  will  sometimes  in  little  matters 
act  too  much  the  person  who  can  see  ;  and  in  the  heat  of  the 
moments  lets  fall  "  the  deuce  !"  and  similar  expressions  of 
anger  on  Elsa,  for  having  put  them  in  the  wrong  place.  Ma 
chere  mere  was  wrong  ;  but  Elsa,  who  formerly  always  pro- 
tested with  strong  words  against  any  injustice  of  the  kind, 
now  let  it  pass  very  quietly  for  her  own  fault.  A  moment 
afterwards,  as  Ma  chere  mere  sat  at  her  netting,  and  let  her 
needle  fall  under  the  sofii,  Elsa — who  is  always  at  hand  when 
she  can  be  of  service—  went  down  on  her  knees  to  pick  it  up, 
and  gave  it  to  her  again.  Ma  chere  mere  on  this  laid  her 
arm  gently  round  her  faithful  servant,  and  said,  with  emotion, 
"  My  dear  Elsa,  what  should  I  do  if  I  had  not  thee  ?"  Elsa 
embraced  the  knees  of  her  mistress,  pressed  her  forehead 
against  them,  and  a  tear  of  tenderness  and  joy  quietly  rolled 
down  her  bony  cheeKs. 

Jean  Jacques  regulates  and  commands  freely  at  Carlsfors ; 
abolishes  all  abuses  ;  and  makes  many  useful  arrangements.  He 
is  an  active  and  highly-informed  man  ;  and  talks  less  since  he 
has  done  more.  He  and  Jane  Marie  extend  their  influence 
continually  at  Carlsfors,  while  Ma  chere  mere  seems  more  and 
more  to  withdraw  herself  from  the  affairs  of  the  world.  Music 
gives  her  more  pleasure  than  ever ;  and  she  has  once  said, 
that  she  could  wish  to  die  amid  the  tones  of  Bruno's  organ. 
The  next  week  she  is  going  to  give  the  new-married  pair  a 
great  dinner.  Miss  Hellevi  Husgafvel  will  also  give,  in 
in  honour  of  them,  a  select  soiree. 

It  is  said  that  ^v'ature  and  Art  propose  to  make  a  union  in 


S82 


THE  KEIGHBOURS. 


the  persons  of  young  Eobert  Stalmark  and  Adele  von  P. 
They  have  made  the  discovery  of  each  other's  excellences  at 
Miss  Husgafvel's  soirees  in  the  course  of  the  winter ;  have 
fallen  consequently  in  love,  and  are  become  thereby  much 
more  amiable. 

Lagman  Hok  has,  during  the  spring,  suffered  much  from 
his  liver  complaint ;  has  been  obliged  to  confine  himself  long 
to  his  room,  where  he  has  been  diligently  visited  by  his  neigh- 
bours and  friends.  Ma  chere  mere  has  been  twice  a  week  to 
see  him,  and  I  too  have  now  and  then  passed  an  hour  with 
the  still  and  interesting  old  man.  Yesterday,  Jane  Marie 
informed  me,  he  had  been  again,  for  the  first  time,  to  Carls- 
fors.  Ma  chere  mere  and  he  walked  their  trail  together,  she 
holding  by  a  line  which  was  stretched  across  the  room. 

We  hear  that  cousin  Stellan  will  travel  this  summer  into 
Italy  on  account  of  his  health  ;  in  truth,  in  order  to  dissipate 
his  .ennui,  but  I  fear  that  this  will  go  along  with  him. 

Peter  and  Ebba  are  expected  in  the  autumn.  It  will  be  a 
pleasure  to  see  them  again,  and  I  shall  be  anxious  to  observe 
how  the  sisters-in-law  will  now  agree.  Jane  Marie  expects 
visits  from  some  Stockholm  acquaintances,  and  promises  her- 
self a  gay  summer. 

But  while  all  around  me  rejoice  themselves ;  love,  dance, 
and  prepare  entertainments — I  go,  perhaps  with  hasty  strides, 
towards  my  last  hour ;  but  I  think  no  longer  of  it  with  un- 
easiness, I  have  arranged  all  my  little  affairs,  and  hold  myself 
in  readiness  for  wliat  may  come.  I  have  written  a  letter  for 
Bear,  which,  if  I  die,  shall  tell  him  how  dear  he  is  to  me,  and 
how  happy  he  has  made  me  during  our  short  union.  My 
poor,  good  Bear !  He  is  now  so  uneasy,  so  anxious  about  me, 
that  it  internally  troubles  me.  I  see  that  he  will  never  do 
for  my  doctor ;  I  must  now  have  courage  for  us  both.  I  will 
follow  the  example  of  a  young  friend  who  found  herself  in  a 
similar  situation  to  mine,  and  what  was  worse  in  a  solitary 
house  in  the  country,  and  hemmed  in  by  snow-drifts ;  but 
that  she  might  keep  herself  in  spirits,  she  translated  some  ot 
the  finest  scenes  of  Shakspeare.  I  have  no  Shakspeare  at 
hand,  but  I  will  set  on  and  write  an  epistle  to  those  who  ara 
more  the  subject  of  my  thoughts. 


KIANSISKA  WERNER  TO  MARIA  M. 


383 


TO  MY  DATTGHTEES. 

Above  all  things,  my  dear  daughters,  bear  in  mind  that 
you  are  human  beings.  Be  good,  be  true ;  the  rest  will  fol- 
low. As  much  as  possible,  be  kind  to  every  one ;  tender  to 
every  animal.  Be  without  sentimentality  and  affectation. 
Affectation  is  a  miserable  art,  my  daughters — despise  it,  as 
truly  as  you  would  acquire  moral  worth.  Do  not  regard 
yourselves  as  very  important,  let  you  have  as  many  talents  and 
endowments  as  you  may ;  consider  nature  and  life,  and  be 
humble.  Should  you  be  treated  by  nature  like  a  hard  step- 
mother, and  be  infirm,  ordinary,  or  the  like,  do  not  be  dis- 
couraged ;  you  may  draw  near  to  the  Most  High.  Eequire 
not  much  from  other  people,  especially  from  one  another. 
The  art  to  sink  in  the  esteem  of  yourselves  and  others,  is  to 
make  great  demands,  and  give  little. 

If  you  are  straitened  in  this  world,  look  up  to  heaven ;  but 
not  as  turkey-cocks,  but  as  believing  children.  Should  one 
of  you  fall,  let  her  immediately  determine  to  arise  again  ;  to 
the  failing,  as  well  as  to  the  unfortunate,  there  is  always  ex- 
tended a  helping  hand.    Lay  hold  on  this. 

Ah  !  my  daughters  

Fourteen  days  later. 
"What  is  become  of  my  daughters  ?  They  have  turned 
themselves  into  a  son!  and  the  young  gentleman  was  un- 
courteous  enough  to  interrupt  the  letter  to  his  sisters. 
There  he  lies  in  the  new  wicker  cradle,  under  the  green 
taffety  canopy,  well-grown,  round,  and  fat ;  and  the  great 
Bear  is  on  his  knees  beside  his  little  Bear.  I  have  a  great 
mind  to  join  him  m  his  idolatry ;  but  Bear  the  father  con- 
siders it  more  fitting  that  the  son  wait  on  his  mother.    I  am 

f)roud  of  my  little  boy  ;  but  so  it  is,  I  had  so  certainly  calcu- 
ated  on  a  little  maiden,  that  I  almost  miss  her.  But  as  Ma 
chere  mere  comforted  me — "  deferring  prevents  no  recur- 
ring." 

"  What  shall  I  do  with  my  letter.  Bear  ?  It  is  not  adapted 
to  the  honourable  gentleman  there." 

"  I  will  take  care  of  it  for  our  girls  ; — write  another  for 
the  youngster." 

Happy,  my  Maria,  is  the  wife  who  can,  like  me,  give  to 


THE  NEIGHBOURS. 


her  son  from  heart  and  soul  this  exhortation — "Eesembk 
thy  father!" 

"  No,  Bear !  thou  mayst  not  see  what  I  have  written. 
Thou  mayst  not  take  my  paper  away,  thou  tyrant !  I  pro- 
mise to  conclude  very  soon,  but  I  must  yet  add  a  word  or 
two." 

These  good  people  and  Neighbours !  From  all  sides  they 
have  sent  me  flowers,  and  jellies,  and  all  sorts  of  good  things. 
Serena  has  nursed  me  the  whole  time  like  a  sister.  She  ia 
quiet,  kind,  sympathizing ;  in  one  word,  like  herself ;  and 
seems  to  entertain  a  love  for  Bruno  which  is  too  inward  to 
express  itself  in  words.  My  Maria,  I  invite  you  to  stand 
godmother  to  my  little  Bear.  He  is  to  be  called  Lars  Peter, 
and  Ma  chere  mere  will  herself  convey  him  to  the  font.  She 
was  here  the  day  after  his  birth,  and  laid  a  beautiful  present 
on  his  cradle.  She  spoke  with  me  about  my  fears  and  trou- 
bles on  this  head,  and  said  gaily,  "  Well,  it  is  in  these  things 
as  in  life, — *  all  is  well  that  ends  well,'  " 

"  No,  Bear !  my  paper, — my  pen, — oh  !  thou  abominable 
Bear!" 


22ND  OF  THE  NEIGHBOURS. 


I 


HOPES. 

1  HAD  a  peculiar  method  of  wandering  without  very  much 
paiu  along  the  stormy  path  of  life,  although,  in  a  physical  as 
well  as  in  a  moral  sense,  I  wandered  almost  barefoot, — I  hoped^ 
hoped  from  day  to  day ;  in  the  morning  my  hopes  rested  on 
evening,  in  the  evening  on  the  morning  ;  in  the  autumn  upon 
the  spring,  in  spring  upon  the  autumn ;  from  this  year  to 
the  next,  and  thus,  amid  mere  hopes,  I  had  passed  through 
nearly  thirty  years  of  my  life,  without,  of  all  my  privations, 
painfully  perceiving  the  want  of  anything  but  whole  boots. 
Nevertheless,  I  consoled  myself  easily  for  this  out  of  doors  in 
the  open  air,  but  in  a  drawing-room  it  always  gave  me  an 
uneasy  manner  to  have  to  turn  the  heels,  as  being  the  part 
least  torn,  to  the  front.  Much  more  oppressive  was  it  to  me, 
truly,  that  I  could  in  the  abodes  of  misery  only  console  with 
kind  words. 

I  comforted  myself,  like  a  thousand  others,  by  a  hopeful 
glance  upon  the  rolling  wheel  of  fortune,  and  with  the  philo- 
sophical remark,  "  when  the  time  comes,  comes  the  counsel." 

As  a  poor  assistant  to  a  country  clergyman  with  a  narrow 
income  and  meagre  table,  morally  becoming  mouldy  in  the 
company  of  the  scolding  housekeeper,  of  the  willingly  fuddled 
clergyman,  of  a  foolish  young  gentleman,  and  the  daughters 
of  the  house,  who,  with  high  shoulders  and  turned-in  toes, 
went  from  morning  to  night  paying  visits,  I  felt  a  peculiarly 
strange  emotion  of  tenderness  and  joy  as  one  of  my  acquaint- 
ance informed  me  by  writing,  that  my  uncle,  the  Merchant 

P  ,  in  Stockholm,  to  me  personally  unknown,  now  lay 

dying,  and  in  a  paroxysm  of  kindred  affection  had  inquired 
after  his  good-for-nothing  nephew. 

"With  a  flat,  meagre  little  bundle,  and  a  million  of  rich 
hopes,  the  grateful  nephew  now  allows  himself  to  be  shook 
up  hill  and  down  hill,  upon  an  uncommonly  uncomfortable 
and  stiff-necked  peasant-cart,  and  arrived  head-over-heels  in 
the  capital. 

2  B 


886 


HOPES. 


lu  the  inn  where  I  alighted  I  ordered  for  myself  a  little — 
only  a  very  little  breakfast, — a  trifle — a  bit  of  bread-and- 
butter — a  few  eggs. 

The  landlord  and  a  fat  gentleman  walked  up  and  down  the 
saloon  and  chatted.    "  ^^ay,  that  I  must  say/'  said  the  fat 

gentleman,  "  this  Merchant  P  ,  who  died  the  day  before 

yesterday,  he  was  a  fine  fellow." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  thought  I ;  "  aha,  aha,  a  fine  fellow,  who  had 
heaps  of  money  !    Hear  you,  my  friend"  (to  the  waiter), 

could  not  you  get  me  a  bit  of  venison,  or  some  other  solid 
dish  ?  Hear  you,  a  cup  of  bouillon  would  not  be  amiss. 
Look  after  it,  but  quick  !" 

"  Yes,"  said  mine  host  now,  "  it  is  strong  !  Thirty  thou- 
sand dollars,  and  they  banko  !  Nobody  in  the  whole  world 
could  have  dreamed  of  it — thirty  thousand  !" 

"Thirty  thousand!"  repeated  I,  in  my  exultant  soul, 
"  thirty  thousand  !    Hear,  youth,  waiter  !    Make  haste,  give 

me  here  thirty  thou  ;  no,  give  me  here  banko — no,  give  me 

here  a  glass  of  wine,  I  mean ;"  and  from  head  to  heart  there 
sang  in  me,  amid  the  trumpet-beat  of  every  pulse  in  alterna- 
ting echoes,  "  Thirty  thousand  !    Thirty  thousand  !" 

"  Yes,"  continued  the  fat  gentleman,  "  and  would  you 
believe  that  in  the  mass  of  debts  there  are  nine  hundred 
dollars  for  cutlets,  and  five  thousand  dollars  for  champagne. 
And  now  all  his  creditors  stand  there  prettily,  and  open  their 
mouths  ;  all  the  things  in  the  house  are  hardly  worth  two 
farthings  ;  and  out  of  the  house  they  find,  as  the  only  indem- 
nification— a  calasch !" 

"  Aha,  that  is  something  quite  different !  Hear  you,  youth, 
waiter  !  Eh,  come  you  here  !  take  that  meat,  and  the  bouillon, 
and  the  wine  away  again ;  and  hear  you,  observe  well,  that  I 
have  not  eaten  a  morsel  of  all  this.  How  could  I,  indeed  ;  I 
that  ever  since  I  opened  my  eyes  this  morning  have  done  no- 
thing else  but  eat  (a  horrible  untruth  !),  and  it  just  now  occurs 
to  me  that  it  would  therefore  be  unnecessary  to  pay  money 
for  such  a  superfluous  feast." 

"But  you  have  actually  ordered  it,"  replied  the  waiter,  in 
a  state  of  excitement. 

"  My  friend,"  I  replied,  and  seized  myself  behind  the  ear, 
a  place  whence  people,  \^  ho  are  in  embarrassment,  are  accus* 


HOPES. 


387 


tomed  in  some  sort  of  way  to  obtain  the  necessary  help — "  my 
friend,  it  was  a  mistake  for  which  I  must  not  be  punished ; 
for  it  was  not  my  fault  that  a  rich  heir,  for  whom  I  ordered 
the  breakfast,  is  all  at  once  become  poor, — yes,  poorer  than 
many  a  poor  devil,  because  he  has  lost  more  than  the  half  of 
his  present  means  upon  the  future.  If  he,  under  these  cir- 
cumstances, as  you  may  well  imagine,  cannot  pay  for  a  dear 
breakfast,  yet  it  does  not  prevent  my  paying  for  the  eggs 
which  I  have  devoured,  and  giving  you  over  and  above  some- 
thing handsome  for  your  trouble,  as  business  compels  me  to 
move  off  from  here  immediately!" 

By  my  excellent  logic,  and  the  "  something  handsome,"  I 
removed  from  my  throat,  with  a  bleeding  heart  and  a  water- 
ing mouth,  that  dear  breakfast,  and  wandered  forth  into  the 
city,  with  my  little  bundle  under  my  arm,  to  seek  for  a  cheap 
room,  whilst  I  considered  where  I  was  to  get  the  money 
for  it. 

In  consequence  of  the  violent  coming  in  contact  of  hope 
and  reality  I  had  a  little  headache.  But  when  I  saw  upon  my 
ramble  a  gentleman,  ornamented  with  ribbons  and  stars, 
alight  from  a  magnificent  carriage,  who  had  a  pale  yellow 
complexion,  a  deeply-wrinkled  brow,  and  above  his  eyebrows 
an  intelligible  trace  of  ill-humour ;  when  I  saw  a  young 
count,  with  whom  I  had  become  acquainted  in  the  University 
of  Upsala,  walking  along  as  if  he  were  about  to  fall  on  his 
nose  from  age  and  weariness  of  life,  I  held  up  my  head,  in- 
haled the  air,  which  accidentally  (unfortunately)  at  this 
place  was  filled  with  the  smell  of  smoked  sausage,  and  ex- 
tolled poverty  and  a  pure  heart. 

I  found  at  length,  in  a  remote  street,  a  little  room,  which 
was  more  suited  to  my  gloomy  prospects  than  to  the  bright 
hopes  which  I  cherished  two  hours  before. 

I  had  obtained  permission  to  spend  the  winter  in  Stock- 
holm, and  had  thought  of  spending  it  in  quite  a  different 
way  to  what  now  was  to  be  expected.  But  what  was  to  be 
done  ?  To  let  the  courage  sink  was  tlie  worst  of  all ;  to  lay 
the  hands  in  the  lap  and  look  up  to  heaven,  not  much 
better.  "  The  sun  breaks  forth  when  one  least  expects  it," 
thought  I,  as  heavy  autumn  clouds  descended  upon  the  city, 
I  determined  to  use  all  the  means  I  could  to  obtain  foi 
2  B  2 


388 


HOPES 


myself  a  decent  subsistence,  with  a  somewliat  pleasanter 
prospect  for  the  future,  than  was  opened  to  me  under  the 
miserable  protection  of  Pastor  Gr.,  and,  in  the  mean  time,  to 
earn  my  daily  bread  by  eopying, — a  sorrowful  expedient  in  a 
sorrowful  condition. 

Thus  I  passed  my  days  amid  fruitless  endeavours  to  find 
ears  which  might  not  be  deaf,  amid  the  heart-wearing  occu- 
pation of  writing  out  fairly  the  empty  productions  of  empty 
heads,  with  my  dinners  becoming  more  and  more  scanty, 
and  with  ascending  hopes,  until  that  evening  against  whose 
date  I  afterwards  made  a  cross  in  my  calendar. 

My  host  had  just  left  me  with  the  friendly  admonition  to 
pay  the  first  quarter's  rent  on  the  following  day,  if  I  did  not 
prefer  (the  politeness  is  French)  to  march  forth  again  with 
bag  and  baggage  on  a  "voyage  of  discovery  through  the  streets 
of  the  city. 

It  was  just  eight  o'clock,  on  an  indescribably  cold  Novem- 
ber evening,  when  I  was  revived  with  this  affectionate  salu- 
tation on  my  return  from  a  visit  to  a  sick  person,  for  whom  I, 
perhaps — really  somewhat  inconsiderately,  had  emptied  my 
purse. 

I  snuffed  my  sleepy  thin  candle  with  my  fingers,  and 
glanced  around  the  little  dark  chamber,  for  the  further  use  of 
which  I  must  soon  see  myself  compelled  to  gold-making. 

"Diogenes  dwelt  worse,"  sighed  I,  with  a  submissive 
mind,  as  I  drew  a  lame  table  from  the  window  where  the 
wind  and  rain  were  not  contented  to  stop  outside.  At  that 
moment  my  eye  fell  upon  a  brilliantly  blazing  fire  in  a 
kitchen,  which  lay,  Tantalus-like,  directly  opposite  to  my 
modest  room,  where  the  fireplace  was  as  dark  as  possible. 

Cooks,  men  and  women,  have  the  happiest  lot  of  all  serving 
mortals !"  thought  I,  as,  with  a  secret  desire  to  play  that 
fire-tending  game,  I  contemplated  the  well-fed  dame,  amid 
iron-pots  and  stewpans,  standing  there  like  an  empress  in 
the  glory  of  the  fire-light,  and  with  the  firetongs-sceptre 
rummaging  about  majestically  in  the  glowing  realm. 

A  story  higher,  I  had,  through  a  window,  which  was  con- 
cealed by  no  envious  curram,  the  view  into  a  brightly  lighted 
room,  where  a  numerous  family  were  assembled  round  a  tea- 
table  covered  with  cups  and  bread-baskets. 


HOPES 


389 


I  Tra«  stiff  in  my  whole  body,  from  cold  and  damp.  How 
empty  it  was  in  that  part  which  may  be  called  the  magazme, 
I  do  not  say  :  but,  ah,  good  Heavens  !  thought  I,  if,  however, 
that  pretty  girl,  who  over  there  takes  a  cup  of  tea-nectar  and 
rich  splendid  rusks  to  that  fat  gentleman  who,  from  satiety, 
can  hardly  raise  himself  from  the  sofa,  would  but  reach  out 
her  lovely  hand  a  little  further,  and  could — she  would  with  a 
thousand  kisses — in  vain  ! — ah,  the  satiated  gentleman  takes 
his  cup ;  he  steeps  and  steeps  his  rusk  with  such  eternal 
slowness — it  might  be  wine.  Now  the  charming  girl  caresses 
him.    I  am  curious  whether  it  is  the  dear  papa  himself,  or 

the  uncle,  or,  perhaps   Ah,  the  enviable  mortal !  But  nq 

it  is  quite  impossible ;  he  is  at  least  forty  years  older  than 
she.  See,  that  indeed  must  be  his  wife — an  elderly  lady, 
who  sits  near  him  on  the  sofa,  and  who  offers  rusks  to  the 
young  lady.  The  old  lady  seems  very  dignified ;  but  to  whom 
does  she  go  now  ?  I  cannot  see  the  person.  An  ear  and  a 
piece  of  a  shoulder  are  all  that  peeps  forth  near  the  window. 
I  cannot  exactly  take  it  amiss,  that  the  respectable  person 
turns  his  back  to  me  ;  but  that  he  keeps  the  young  lady 
a  quarter  of  an  hour  standing  before  him,  lets  her  curtsey 
and  offer  her  good  things,  does  thoroughly  provoke  me.  It 
must  be  a  lady — a  man  could  not  be  so  unpolite  towards  this 

angelic  being.  But — or  now  she  takes  the  cup  ;  and  now, 

O  woe!  a  great  man's  hand  grasps  into  the  rusk-basket — the 
savage !  and  how  he  helps  himself — the  churl !  I  should  like  to 
know  whether  it  is  her  brother, — ^he  was  perhaps  hungry,  poor 
fellow !  Now  come  in,  one  after  the  other,  two  lovely  chil- 
dren, who  are  like  the  sister.  I  wonder  now,  whether  the 
good  man  with  one  ear  has  left  anything  remaining.  That 
most  charming  of  girls,  how  she  caresses  the  little  ones,  and 
kisses  them,  and  gives  to  them  all  the  rusks  and  the  cakes 
that  have  escaped  the  fingers  of  Monsieur  Grobble.  Now  she 
has  had  herself,  the  sweet  child  !  of  the  whole  entertainment, 
no  more  than  me — the  smell. 

What  a  movement  suddenly  takes  place  in  the  room  ! 
The  old  gentleman  heaves  himself  up  from  the  sofa — the 
person  with  one  ear  starts  forward,  and  in  so  doing,  gives  the 
young  lady  a  blow  (the  dromedary !)  which  makes  her  knock 
against  the  tea-table,  whereby  the  poor  lady,  who  was  just 


§90 


HOPES. 


about  springing  up  from  the  sofa,  is  pushed  down  again — 
the  children  hop  about  and  clap  their  hands — the  door  flies 
open — a  young  officer  enters — the  young  girl  throws  herself 
into  his  arms.  So,  indeed  !  Aha,  now  we  have  it !  I  put  to 
my  shutters  so  violently  that  they  cracked,  and  seated  my- 
Belf  on  a  chair,  quite  wet  through  with  rain,  and  with  my 
knees  trembling. 

What  had  I  to  do  at  the  window  ?  That  is  what  one  gets 
when  one  is  inquisitive. 

Eight  days  ago,  this  family  had  removed  from  the  country 
into  the  handsome  house  opposite  to  me ;  and  it  had  never 
yet  occurred  to  me  to  ask  who  they  were,  or  whence  they 
came.  What  need  was  there  for  me  to-night  to  make  myself 
acquainted  with  their  domestic  concerns  in  an  illicit  manner  ? 
How  could  it  interest  me  ?  I  was  in  an  ill-humour ;  perhaps, 
too,  I  felt  some  little  heartache.  But  for  all  that,  true  to 
my  resolution,  not  to  give  myself  up  to  anxious  thoughts 
when  they  could  do  no  good,  I  seized  the  pen  with  stiff 
fingers,  and,  in  order  to  dissipate  my  vexation,  wished  to 
attempt  a  description  of  domestic  happiness,  of  a  happiness 
which  I  had  never  enjoyed.  Eor  the  rest,  I  philosophised 
whilst  I  blew  upon  my  stiffened  hands.  "  Am  I  the  first 
who,  in  the  hot  hour  of  fancy,  has  sought  for  a  warmth  which 
the  stern  world  of  reality  has  denied  him  ?  Six  dollars  for  a 
measure  of  fir-wood.  Yes,  prosit,  thou  art  not  likely  to  get 
it  before  December  !    I  write  !" 

"  Happy,  threefold  happy,  the  family,  in  whose  narrow 
contracted  circle  no  heart  bleeds  solitarily,  or  solitarily  re- 
joices !  No  look,  no  smile,  remains  unanswered  ;  and  where 
the  friends  say  daily,  not  with  words  but  with  deeds,  to 
each  other,  'Thy  cares,  thy  joys,  thy  happiness,  are  mine 
also!' 

"  Lovely  is  the  peaceful,  the  quiet  home,  which  closes  itself 
protectingly  around  the  weary  pilgrim  through  life — which, 
around  its  friendly  blazing  hearth,  assembles  for  repose  the 
old  man  leaning  on  his  staff*,  the  strong  man,  the  aftectiouate 
wife,  and  happy  children,  who,  shouting  and  exulting,  hop 
about  in  their  earthly  heaven,  and  closing  a  day  spent  in  the 
pastimes  of  innocence,  repeat  a  thanksgiving  prayer  with 
iimiling  lips,  and  drop  asleep  on  the  bosom  of  their  parents, 


HOPES, 


391 


whilst  the  gentle  voice  of  the  mother  tells  them,  in  whispered 
cradle-tones,  how  around  their  couch — 

The  little  angels  in  a  ring, 

Stand  round  about  to  keep 
A  watchful  guard  upon  the  bed 

Where  little  children  sleep." 

Here  I  was  obliged  to  leave  off,  because  I  felt  something 
resembling  a  drop  of  rain  come  forth  from  my  eye,  and 
therefore  could  not  any  longer  see  clearly. 

"How  many,"  thought  I,  as  my  reflections,  against  my 
will,  took  a  melancholy  turn — "how  many  are  there  who 
must,  to  their  sorrow,  do  without  this  highest  happiness  of 
earthly  life — domestic  happiness  !" 

Tor  one  moment  I  contemplated  myself  in  the  only  whole 
glass  which  I  had  in  my  room — that  of  truths — and  then 
wrote  again  with  gloomy  feeling : — "  Unhappy,  indeed,  may 
the  forlorn  one  be  called,  who,  in  the  anxious  and  cool  mo- 
ments of  life  (which,  indeed,  come  so  often),  is  pressed  to  no 
faithful  heart,  whose  sigh  nobody  returns,  whose  quiet  grief 
nobody  alle\iates  with  a  *  I  understand  thee,  I  suffer  with 
thee!' 

"  He  is  cast  down,  nobody  raises  him  up  ;  he  weeps,  no- 
body sees  it,  nobody  will  see  it ;  he  goes,  nobody  follows 
him ;  he  comes,  nobody  goes  to  meet  him  ;  he  rests,  nobody 
watches  over  him.  He  is  lonely.  Oh,  how  unfortunate  he  is  ! 
Why  dies  he  not  ?  Ah,  who  would  weep  for  him  ?  How 
cold  is  a  grave  which  no  warm  tears  of  love  moisten ! 

"  He  is  lonesome  in  the  winter  night ;  for  him  the  earth 
has  no  flowers,  and  dark  burn  the  lights  of  heaven.  Why 
wanders  he,  the  lonesome  one ;  why  waits  he ;  why  flies  he 
not,  the  shadow,  to  the  land  of  shades  ?  Ah,  he  still  hopes, 
he  is  a  mendicant  who  begs  for  joy,  who  yet  waits  in  the 
eleventh  hour,  that  a  merciful  hand  may  give  him  an  alms. 

"  One  only  little  blossom  of  earth  will  he  gather,  bear  it 
upon  his  heart,  in  order  henceforth  not  so  lonesomely,  not  so 
entirely  lonesome,  to  wander  down  to  rest." 

It  was  my  own  condition  which  I  described.  I  deplored 
myself. 

Early  deprived  of  my  parents,  without  brothers  and  sisters, 
fSriends  and  relations,  I  stood  in  the  world  3^et  so  solitary  and 


802 


HOPES. 


forlorn,  that  but  for  an  inward  confidence  in  heaven,  and  a 
naturally  happy  temper,  I  should  often  enough  have  wished 
to  leave  this  contemptuous  world  ;  till  now,  however,  I  had 
almost  constantly  hoped  from  the  future,  and  this  more  from 
an  instinctive  feeling  that  this  might  be  the  best,  than  to 
subdue  by  philosophy  every  too  vivid  wish  for  an  agreeable 
present  time,  because  it  was  altogether  so  opposed  to  possibi- 
lity. For  some  time,  however,  alas !  it  had  been  otherwise 
with  me ;  I  felt,  and  especially  this  evening,  more  than  ever 
an  inexpressible  desire  to  have  somebody  to  love, — to  have 
some  one  about  me  who  would  cleave  to  me — who  would  be 
a  friend  to  me  ; — in  short,  to  have  (for  me  the  highest  felicity 
on  earth)  a  wife — a  beloved,  devoted  wife !  Oh,  she  would 
comfort  me,  she  would  cheer  me !  her  affection,  even  in  the 
poorest  hut,  would  make  of  me  a  king.  That  the  love-fire  of 
my  heart  would  not  insure  the  faithful  being  at  my  side  from 
being  frozen  was  soon  made  clearly  sensible  to  me  by  an 
involuntary  shudder.  More  dejected  than  ever,  I  rose  up 
and  walked  a  few  times  about  my  room  (that  is  to  say,  two 
steps  right  forward,  and  then  turn  back  again).  The  sense 
of  my  condition  followed  me  like  the  shadow  on  the  wall,  and 
for  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  felt  myself  cast  down,  and 
threw  a  gloomy  look  on  my  dark  future.  I  had  no  patron, 
therefore  could  not  reckon  upon  promotion  for  a  long  time, 
consequently  also  not  upon  my  own  bread — on  a  friend — a 
wife,  I  mean. 

"  But  what  in  all  the  world,"  said  I  yet  once  more  seriously 
to  myself,  "  what  helps  beating  one's  brains  ?"  Yet  once 
more  I  tried  to  get  rid  of  all  anxious  thoughts.  "  If,  however, 
a  Christian  soul  could  only  come  to  me  this  evening !  Let  it 
be  whoever  it  would — friend  or  foe — it  would  be  better  than 
this  solitude.  Yes,  even  if  an  inhabitant  of  the  world  of 
spirits  opened  the  door,  he  would  be  welcome  to  me  !  What 
wa?  that  ?  Three  blows  on  the  door !  I  will  not,  however, 
believe  it — again  three  !"  I  went  and  opened ;  there  was  no- 
body there ;  only  the  wind  went  howling  up  and  down  the 
stairs.  I  hastily  shut  the  door  again,  thrust  my  hands  into 
my  pockets,  and  went  up  and  down  for  a  while  humming 
aloud.  Some  moments  afterwards  I  fancied  I  heard  a  sigh ! 
" — I  was  silent,  and  listened, — again  there  was  very  evidently 


HOPES. 


893 


sigh — and  yet  once  again,  so  deep  and  so  mournful,  that 
I  exclaimed  with  secret  terror,  "Who  is  there?"  No  an* 
swer. 

For  a  moment  I  stood  still,  and  considered  what  this  really 
could  mean,  when  a  horrible  noise,  as  if  cats  were  sent  with 
yells  lumbering  down  the  whole  flight  of  stairs,  and  ended 
with  a  mighty  blow  against  my  door,  put  an  end  to  my  in- 
decision. I  took  up  the  candle,  and  a  stick,  and  went  out. 
At  the  moment  when  I  opened  the  door  my  light  was  blown 
out.  A  gigantic  white  figure  glimmered  opposite  to  me,  and 
I  felt  myself  suddenly  embraced  by  two  strong  arms.  I  cried 
for  help,  and  struggled  so  actively  to  get  loose,  that  both  my-, 
self  and  my  adversary  fell  to  the  ground,  but  so  that  I  lay  upper- 
most. Like  an  arrow  I  sprung  again  upright,  and  was  about 
to  fetch  a  light,  when  I  stumbled  over  something — Heaven 
knows  what  it  was  (I  firmly  believe  that  somebody  held  me 
fast  by  the  feet),  by  which  I  fell  a  second  time,  struck  my 
head  on  the  corner  of  the  table,  and  lost  my  consciousness, 
whilst  a  suspicious  noise,  which  had  great  resemblance  to 
laughter,  rung  in  my  ears. 

When  I  again  opened  my  eyes,  they  met  a  dazzling  blaze 
of  light.  I  closed  them  again,  and  listened  to  a  confused 
noise  around  me — opened  them  again  a  very  little,  and  en- 
deavoured to  distinguish  the  objects  which  surrounded  me, 
which  appeared  to  me  so  enigmatical  and  strange  that  I 
almost  feared  my  mind  had  wandered.  I  lay  upon  a  sofa, 
and — No,  I  really  did  not  deceive  myself, — that  charming 
girl,  who  on  this  evening  had  so  incessantly  floated  before 
my  thoughts,  stood  actually  beside  me,  and  with  a  heavenly 
expression  of  sympathy  bathed  my  head  with  vinegar.  A 
young  man  whose  countenance  seemed  known  to  me,  held 
my  hand  between  his.  I  perceived  also  the  fat  gentleman, 
another  thin  one,  the  lady,  the  children,  and  in  distant  twi- 
light I  saw  the  shimmer  of  the  paradise  of  the  tea-table ;  in 
short,  I  found  myself  by  an  incomprehensible  whim  of  fate 
amidst  the  family  which  an  hour  before  I  had  contemplated 
with  such  lively  sympathy. 

When  I  again  had  returned  to  full  consciousness,  the 
young  man  embraced  me  several  times  with  military  vehe* 
mence. 


394 


HOPES* 


"  Do  you  then  no  longer  know  me  P"  cried  he  indignantLj 
as  he  saw  me  petrified  body  and  soul.  "  Have  you  tken  for- 
gotten August  D  ,  whose  life  a  short  time  since  you  saved 

at  the  peril  of  your  own  ?  whom  you  so  handsomely  fished 
up,  with  danger  to  yourself,  from  having  for  ever  to  remain 
in  the  uninteresting  company  of  fishes  ?  See  here,  my  father, 
my  mother,  my  sister  Wilheiminal" 

1  pressed  his  hand ;  and  now  the  parents  embraced  me. 
With  a  stout  blow  of  the  fist  upon  the  table,  August's  father 
exclaimed,  "And  because  you  have  saved  my  son's  life,  and 
because  you  are  such  a  downright  honest  and  good  fellow, 
and  have  suffered  hunger  yourself — that  you  might  give 

others  to  eat — you  shall  really  have  the  parsonage  at  H  

Yes,  you  shall  become  clergyman !  I  say — I  have  jus  pa- 
tronatum,  you  understand !" 

For  a  good  while  I  was  not  at  all  in  a  condition  to  com- 
prehend, to  think,  or  to  speak;  and  before  all  had  been 
cleared  up  by  a  thousand  explanations,  I  could  understand 
nothing  clearly  excepting  that  Wilhelmina  was  not — that 
Wilhelmina  was  August's  sister. 

He  had  returned  this  evening  from  a  journey  of  service, 
during  which,  in  the  preceding  summer,  chance  had  given  to 
me  the  good  fortune  to  rescue  him  from  a  danger,  into  which 
youthful  heat  and  excess  of  spirit  had  thrown  him.  I  had 
not  seen  him  again  since  this  occurrence  ;  earlier,  I  had 
made  a  passing  acquaintance  with  him,  had  drunk  brother- 
hood with  him  at  the  university,  and  after  that  had  forgotten 
my  dear  brother. 

He  had  now  related  this  occurrence  to  his  family,  with  the 
easily  kindled-up  enthusiasm  of  youth,  together  with  what 
he  knew  of  me  beside,  and  what  he  did  not  know.  The 
father,  who  had  a  living  in  his  gift,  and  who  (as  I  afterwards 
found)  had  made  from  his  window  some  compassionate  re- 
marks upon  my  meagre  dinner-table,  determined,  assailed  by 
the  prayers  of  his  son,  to  raise  me  from  the  lap  of  poverty  to 
the  summit  of  fortune.  August  would  in  his  rapture  an- 
nounce to  me  my  good  luck  instantly,  and  in  order,  at  the 
same  time,  to  gratify  his  passion  for  merry  jokes,  made  him- 
self known  upon  my  stairs  in  a  way  which  occasioned  me  a 
severe,  although  not  dangerous,  contusion  on  the  temples, 


HOPES. 


893 


and  the  unexpected  removal  across  the  street,  out  of  the 
deepest  darkness  into  the  brightest  light.  The  good  youth 
besought  a  thousand  times  forgiveness  for  his  thoughtless- 
ness ;  a  thousand  times  I  assured  him  that  it  was  not  worth 
the  trouble  to  speak  of  such  a  trifling  blow.  And  in  fact,  the 
living  was  a  balsam,  which  would  have  made  a  greater  wound 
than  this  imperceptible  also. 

Astonished,  and  somewhat  embarrassed,  I  now  perceived 
that  the  ear  and  the  shoulder,  whose  possessor  had  seized  so 
horribly  upon  the  contents  of  the  rusk-basket,  and  over  whom 
I  had  poured  out  my  gall,  belonged  to  nobody  else  than  to 
August's  father  and  my  patron.  The  fat  gentleman  who  sate 
upon  the  sofa,  was  "Wilhelmina's  uncle. 

The  kindness  and  gaiety  of  my  new  friends  made  me  soon 
feel  at  home  and  happy.  The  old  people  treated  me  like 
a  child  of  the  house,  the  young  ones  as  a  brother,  and  the 
two  little  dtes  seemed  to  anticipate  a  gingerbread-friend  in  me. 

After  I  had  received  two  cups  of  tea  from  Wilhelmina's 
pretty  hand,  to  which  I  almost  feared  taking,  in  my  abstrac- 
tion of  mind,  more  rusks  than  my  excellent  patron,  I  rose 
up  to  take  my  leave.  They  insisted  absolutely  upon  my 
passing  the  night  there  ;  but  I  abode  by  my  determination 
of  spending  the  first  happy  night  in  my  old  habitation,  amid 
thanksgiving  to  the  lofty  Euler  of  my  fate. 

They  all  embraced  me  afresh ;  and  I  now  also  embraced 
all  rightly,  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart,  Wilhelmina  also, 
although  not  without  having  gracious  permission  first.  "  I 
might  as  well  have  left  that  alone,"  thought  I  afterwards, 
"  if  it  is  to  be  the  first  and  the  last  time  !"  August  accom- 
panied me  back. 

My  host  stood  in  my  room  amid  the  overturned  chairs  and 
tables,  with  a  countenance  which  alternated  between  rain  and 
sunshine ;  on  one  side  his  mouth  drew  itself  with  a  reluctant 
smile  up  to  his  ear,  on  the  other  it  crept  for  vexation  down 
to  his  double  chin ;  the  eyes  followed  the  same  direction,  and 
the  whole  had  the  look  of  a  combat,  till  the  tone  in  w^hich 
August  indicated  to  him  that  he  should  leave  us  alone, 
changed  all  into  the  most  friendly,  grinning  mien,  and  the 
proprietor  of  the  same  vanished  from  the  door  with  the  moat 
submissive  bows. 


396 


HOPES. 


August  was  in  despair  about  my  table,  irij  chair,  my  bed, 
and  so  on.  It  was  with  difficulty  that  I  withheld  him  from 
cudgelling  the  host  who  would  take  money  for  such  a  hole. 
I  was  obliged  to  satisfy  him  with  the  most  holy  assurances, 
that  on  the  following  day  I  would  remove  without  delay. 

But  tell  him,"  prayed  August,  "  before  you  pay  him,  that 

he  is  a  villain,  a  usurer,  a  cheat,  a   or  if  you  like,  I 

will  " 

"  JSTo,  no,  heaven  defend  us!"  interrupted  I,  "be  quiet, 
and  let  me  only  manage." 

After  my  young  friend  had  left  me,  I  passed  several  happy 
hours  in  thinking  on  the  change  in  my  fate,  and  inwardly 
thanking  Grod  for  it. 

My  thoughts  then  rambled  to  the  parsonage  ;  and  heaven 
knows  what  fat  oxen  and  cows,  what  pleasure-grounds,  with 
flowers,  fruits,  and  vegetables,  I  saw  in  spirit  surrounding  my 
new  paradise,  where  my  Eve  walked  by  my  side,  and  supported 
on  my  arm ;  and  especially  what  an  innumerable  crowd  of 
happy  and  edified  people  I  saw  streaming  from  the  church 
when  I  had  preached.  I  baptized,  I  confirmed,  I  comforted 
my  beloved  community  in  the  zeal  and  warmth  of  my  heart 
— and  forgot  only  the  funerals. 

Every  poor  clergyman  who  has  received  a  living,  every 
mortal,  especially  to  whom  unexpectedly  a  long  cherished 
wish  has  been  accomplished,  will  easily  picture  to  himself  my 
state. 

Later  in  the  night  it  sunk  at  last  like  a  veil  before  my  eyes, 
and  my  thoughts  fell  by  degrees  into  a  bewilderment  which 
exhibited  on  every  hand  strange  images.  I  preached  with  a 
loud  voice  in  my  church,  and  the  congregation  slept.  After 
the  service  the  people  came  out  of  the  church  like  oxen  and 
cows,  and  bellowed  against  me  when  I  would  have  admonished 
them.  I  wished  to  embrace  my  wife,  but  could  not  separate 
her  from  a  great  turnip,  which  increased  every  moment,  and 
at  last  grew  over  both  our  heads.  I  endeavoured  to  climb 
up  a  ladder  to  heaven,  whose  stars  beckoned  kindly  and 
brightly  to  me ;  but  potatoes,  grass,  vetches,  and  peas,  en- 
tangled my  feet  unmercifully,  and  hindered  every  step.  At 
last  I  saw  myself  in  the  midst  of  my  possessions  walking 
upon  my  head,  and  whilst  in  my  sleepy  soul  I  greatly  won 


HOPES. 


397 


iJered  Low  this  was  possible,  I  dep  ,  soundly  in  the  remem- 
brance of  my  dream.  Yet  then,  nowever,  I  must  uncon* 
sciously  have  continued  the  chain  of  my  pastoral  thoughts, 
for  I  woke  in  the  morning  with  the  sound  of  my  own  voice 
loudly  exclaiming,  "  Amen  !" 

That  the  occurrences  of  the  former  evening  were  actual 
truth,  and  no  dream,  I  could  only  convince  myself  with  diffi- 
culty, till  August  paid  me  a  visit,  and  invited  me  to  dine  with 
his  parents. 

The  living,  "Wilhelmina,  the  dinner,  the  new  chain  of  hopes 
for  the  future  which  beamed  from  the  bright  sun  of  the  pre- 
sent, all  surprised  me  anew  with  a  joy  which  one  can  feel  very 
well,  but  never  can  describe. 

Out  of  the  depths  of  a  thankful  heart,  I  saluted  the  new 
life  which  opened  to  me,  with  the  firm  determination,  that  let 
happen  what  might,  yet  always  to  do  the  right,  and  to  hope 
for  the  test. 

Two  years  after  this,  I  sate  on  an  autumn  evening  in  my 
beloved  parsonage  by  the  fire.  Near  to  me  sate  my  dear  little 
wife,  my  sweet  Wilhelmina,  and  spun.  I  was  just  about  to 
read  to  her  a  sermon  which  I  intended  to  preach  on  the  next 
Sunday,  and  from  which  I  promised  myself  much  edification, 
as  weU  for  her  as  for  the  assembled  congregation.  Whilst  I 
was  turning  over  the  leaves,  a  loose  paper  fell  out.  It  was 
the  paper  upon  which,  on  that  evening  two  years  before,  in 
a  very  different  situation,  I  had  written  down  my  cheerful 
and  my  sad  thoughts.  I  showed  it  to  my  wife.  She  read, 
smiled  with  a  tear  in  her  eye,  and  with  a  roguish  countenance 
which,  as  I  fancy,  is  peculiar  to  her,  took  the  pen  and  wrote 
on  the  other  side  of  the  paper : 

"  The  author  can  now,  thank  GTod,  strike  out  a  description 
which  would  stand  in  perfect  contrast  to  that  which  he  once, 
in  a  dark  hour,  sketched  of  an  unfortunate  person,  as  he  him- 
self was  then. 

"  JN'ow  he  is  no  more  lonesome,  no  more  deserted.  His 
quiet  sighs  are  answered,  his  secret  griefs  shared,  by  a  wife 
tenderly  devoted  to  him.  He  goes,  her  heart  follows  him ; 
he  comes  back,  she  meets  him  with  smiles ;  his  tears  flow  not 
unobserved,  they  are  dried  by  her  hand,  and  his  smiles  beam 
:^ain  in  hers  ]  for  hinj  she  gathers  flowers,  to  wreath  around 


398 


HOPES. 


his  brow,  to  strew  in  liis  path.  He  has  his  own  fireside, 
friends  devoted  to  him,  and  counts  as  his  relations  all  those 
who  have  none  of  their  own.  He  loves,  he  is  beloved ;  he  can 
make  people  happy,  he  is  himself  happy." 

Truly  had  my  Wilhelmina  described  the  present ;  and,  ani- 
mated by  feehngs  which  are  gay  and  delicious  as  the  beams 
of  the  spring  sun,  I  will  now,  as  hitherto,  let  my  little  troop 
of  light  hopes  bound  out  into  the  future. 

I  hope,  too,  that  my  sermon  for  the  next  Sunday  may 
not  be  without  benefit  to  my  hearers  ;  and  even  if  the  obdu- 
rate should  sleep,  I  hope  that  neither  this  nor  any  other  of 
the  greater  or  the  less  unpleasantnesses  which  can  happen  to 
me,  may  go  to  my  heart  and  disturb  my  rest.  I  know  my 
Wilhelmina,  and  believe  also  that  I  know  myself  sufficiently, 
to  hope  with  certainty  that  I  may  always  make  her  happy. 
The  sweet  angel  has  given  me  hope  that  we  may  soon  be  able 
to  add  a  little  creature  to  our  little  happy  family,  I  hope,  in 
the  future,  to  be  yet  multiplied.  Eor  my  children  I  ha^e 
all  kinds  of  hopes  in  petto.  If  I  have  a  son,  I  hope  that  he 
will  be  my  successor ;  if  I  have  a  daughter,  then — if  August 
would  wait — but  I  fancy  that  he  is  just  about  to  be  mar- 
ried. 

I  hope  in  time  to  find  a  publisher  for  my  sermons.  I  hope 
to  live  yet  a  hundred  years  with  my  wife. 

"We — that  is  to  say,  my  "Wilhelmina  and  I — hope,  during 
this  time,  to  be  able  to  dry  a  great  many  tears,  and  to  shed 
as  few  ourselves  as  our  lot,  as  children  of  the  earth,  may 
permit. 

We  hope  not  to  survive  each  other. 

Lastly,  we  hope  always  to  be  able  to  hope  ;  and  when  the 
hour  comes  that  the  hopes  of  the  green  earth  vanish  before 
the  clear  light  of  eternal  certainty,  then  we  hope  that  the 
All-good  Father  may  pass  a  mild  sentence  upon  his  grateftU 
and  in  humility  hoping  children. 


THE  TWINS. 


Two  charming  rosebuds  (the  last  in  my  garden)  are  frozen 
in  this  October  night.  I  had  so  heartily  pleased  myself  with 
the  thought  of  delighting  my  old  mother,  who  is  a  great  friend 
of  flowers,  and,  especially  at  this  season,  calls  them  her  jewels, 
with  two  beautifiil  roses.  Now  my  two  hopeful  buds  hang 
without  life  and  colour  on  the  stem  ;  they  are  gone — and 
with  them  my  little  birthday  pleasure. 

I  contemplated  them  long,  and  felt  the  while  tears  come 
to  my  eyes.  They  were  consecrated  to  the  memory  of  two 
rosebuds  of  a  nobler  kind,  which,  hopeful  as  these  lovely 
flowers,  like  these  also  withered  away  early  before  the  night- 
frost  of  life. 

Edward  and  Ellna,  my  young  friends,  how  often  in  lonely 
hours  does  your  friendly  image  visit  me  !  Like  mild  breezes 
of  spring  are  the  remembrances  of  you  wafted  to  me  from  the 
time  when  I  was  so  often  with  you, — ^heard  you,  saw  you,  and 
in  you  the  loveliest  things  which  Grod  had  created  on  earth. 

When  I  now  see  splendid  fruit  which  has  fallen  before  its 
maturity,  a  blossom  with  a  worm  in  the  bud,  anything  beau- 
tiful and  good  which  soon  vanishes,  then  I  think  on — Edward 
and  Ellna ! 

Behold  there,  the  beautiful  country-seat  surrounded  by  a 
magnificent  park,  where  they  dwelt  with  their  happy  mother ! 
They  were  the  youngest  of  many  children  which  she  had 
borne,  the  only  ones  for  which  she  had  not  yet  wept. 

They  were  her  darlings,  her  all. 

They  were  so  lovely  that  one  could  not  contemplate  them 
without  emotion.  The  eye,  wearied  with  the  many  unplea- 
santnesses and  adversities  which  everywhere  meet  it,  would 
repose  with  delight  upon  these  charming  beings,  who  in  the 
pure  glory  of  child-like  innocence  stood  there,  like  promises 
of  a  fairer  and  better  creation. 

Their  smile  was  particularly  charming — oh,  it  was  mirrored 
in  their  souls,  that  depth  of  innocence  and  joy  !  Two  dew- 
drops,  sent  down  from  heaven  in  order  to  refresh  the  earth, 
reflect  their  image  in  their  breast. 

"  Happy  childhood!'*  have  I  heard  thousands  exclaim,  who 
had  already  drank  deeper  from  the  cup  of  life,  to  whose  edgfl 


400 


THE  TWINS. 


children  have  only  set  their  lips,  and  kissed  away  the  fiery 
foam.  "Happy  childhood!"  to  thee  is  vouchsafed  to  drink 
amid  pastimes  the  pure  nectar  of  joy — whilst  we,  amid  wea- 
riness and  labour,  seek  in  vain  for  a  refreshing  drop  in  the 
mournful  draught  which  is  extended  to  us. 

And  yet  for  all  that,  it  appears  to  me  that  it  is  not  with 
justice  that  childhood  is  called  so  happy.  How  many  tears 
are  shed  by  children !  Tears  of  impatience,  of  desire,  of 
anger ;  tears  which  shame  and  reproaches  wring  out ;  tears 
of  envy,  of  indignation,  and  of  despair, — in  one  word,  all  the 
passions  which  poison  the  draught  of  life  to  maturer  hearts. 

It  is  true  that  they  need  not  shed  these  tears,  if  a  wise 
commiserating  hand  always  removed  the  thorns  from  the 
path  which  the  little  pilgrims  of  life  tread.  But  often,  quite 
too  often,  they  are  not  removed — they  are  strewn  upon  it. 
Constraint,  unjust  reproaches,  grow  up  like  poisonous  nettles 
around  the  poor  little  ones.  How  often  have  I  seen  it ;  how 
often  have  I  exclaimed,  "  You  poor  children,  you  poor  little 
children  !  why  did  they  give  a  life  to  you,  whose  few  spring- 
flowers  they  do  not  permit  you  to  pluck  ?" 

^Freedom — freedom,  this  west-wind  of  joy,  whose  pure  spirit 
alone  is  able  to  bring  forth  to  perfection  every  flower  of  crea- 
tion— if  they  gave  but  freedom  to  you  innocent  little  ones, 
to  you — born  for  immortality — who  must  wander  through  a 
stormy  land  !  The  breezes  of  freedom,  not  the  simoom-wind 
of  constraint,  should  attend  your  first  steps,  and  the  world 
then  would  not  see  so  many  feeble  wanderers  sink  down 
powerless,  and  crawl  wearily  along  their  way. 

The  first  years  of  Edward  and  Ellna's  life  passed  on  in 
innocent  freedom.  Beautiful,  friendly  nature  was  their 
cradle.  In  the  fields,  in  the  woods  and  groves,  now  they 
played,  and  now  they  rested.  Often,  as  with  their  arms 
clasped  round  each  other  they  lay  upon  the  soft  carpet  of 
grass,  had  they  been  heard  to  talk  of  the  angels,  whose  wings 
they  saw  in  the  clouds,  which,  parted  by  light  gales,  floated 
away  in  the  blue  heaven,  high  above  the  dark  green  summit 
of  the  wood.  They  have  been  seen  to  smile, — yes,  some- 
times to  talk  confidentially  and  child-like  with  them,  praise 
their  beauty,  which  (as  they  said)  was  far  greater  than  their 
own.  Often  did  they  raise  their  small  child  voices  to  accom- 
pany the  tones  of  heavenly  harps,  which  they  heard  mingled 


THE  TWINS. 


401 


willi  the  voices  of  tlie  wood.  Their  mother,  who  was  always 
near  them,  believed  in  the  reality  of  these  appearances. 
Anc  what,  indeed,  can  one  say  against  them  ? — that  one  has 
not  oneself  experienced  anything  of  the  kind.  But  how 
rarely  was  any  one  so  angel-like  and  happy  as  Edward  and 
Ellna! 

Every  one  who  knew  them  was  obliged  to  acknowledge 
that  they  had  never  seen  their  like ;  and  many  a  one  ques- 
tioned in  pious  rapture,  whether  these  children  were  really 
like  other  mortals. 

Around  their  white  foreheads  fell  light-brown  curls  ;  like 
stars  beamed  forth  their  eyes  below,  in  soft  magical  bright- 
ness. The  charming  smiles  of  childhood  parted  constantly 
their  lovely  lips,  and  formed  in  the  rose-tinted  cheeks  little 
dimples,  which  people,  I  know  not  rightly  why,  so  gladly 
kissed. 

Their  whole  bodies  were  so  beautifully  formed,  their  hands 
in  particular  were  so  perfect,  that  I  once  saw  how  a  sculptor 
fell  into  rapture  over  their  contemplation ;  and  how  an  old 
gardener,  not  otherwise  distinguished  for  his  politeness  and 
fine  breeding,  borrowed  a  pair  of  gloves  that  he  might  be 
able  to  conduct  the  little  Ellna  about  his  garden,  the  most 
beautiful  flowers  of  which  soon  lay  in  her  muslin  apron. 

Accustomed  therefore  to  be  admired  without  knowing  why, 
Edward  and  Ellna  showed  themselves  gladly  to  every  one  who 
wished  to  see  them,  and  quietly  smiling,  allowed  themselves 
to  be  praised  and  caressed. 

"  We  are  so  beautiful,"  said  they  in  their  innocence,  with- 
out knowing  what  beauty  was,  and  that  the  world  considered 
the  possession  of  this  a  piece  of  good  fortune.  The  agreeable 
impression  which,  as  they  knew,  they  made,  seemed,  however, 
to  give  them  pleasure,  but  only  because  it  was  so  agreeable  to 
others. 

"  Look  at  us !"  said  they  to  an  old  man,  who  wept  the  loss 
of  his  only  son — "  look  at  us,  and  weep  no  more  !" 

Accustomed  to  call  forth  a  smile  upon  all  countenances, 
they  betrayed  astonishment  that  any  one  could  see  them  and 
yet  weep,  and  in  their  grief,  not  to  be  able  to  give  satisfac- 
tion, they  began  also  to  weep  with  him.  That  which  their 
smiles  could  not  do,  they  now  effected  by  their  tears.  Tho 
Old  man  took  them  in  his  arms,  and  felt  himself  refreshed, 

2  c 


402 


THE  TWINS. 


by  the  sympathy  of  angels.  They  were  then  heard  to  say  tc 
the  mourner,    Look  at  us,  we  weep  with  you  !" 

Thus  did  these  little  Christians  already  in  childhood  follow 
the  example  of  their  Master. 

People  call  children  good.  I  declare  that  I  have  seen  few 
which  were  not  severe  and  cruel.  Unthinking  (therefore  in- 
nocent) savages,  they  often  torment  in  the  most  horrible 
manner  creatures  which  are  small  and  defenceless  enough  to 
become  their  victims.  They  curiously  contemplate  their  con- 
vulsive movements  amid  torture,  and  rarely  avoid  causing 
them  pain.  O  that  so  many  people,  who  already  know,  who 
have  already  experienced  themselves  what  pain  is,  should 
resemble  these  cruel  little  ones !  They  are  not  like  them — 
innocent ! 

Often  have  I  exclaimed  with  murmuring  pain  on  the  ob- 
servation of  their  cruel  pleasures,  and  the  torments  which 
their  so-called  necessary  wants,  their  desire  of  knowledge, 
their  inhumanity  causes  to  millions  of  innocent  creatures — 
"  Man,  this  being  that  more  than  all  suffers  on  the  earth, 
and  causes  most  suffering — O  why  was  he  created  ?" 

Yet  I  know  that  all  will  be  good  one  day, — no  more  tears 
will  be  shed — there  will  be  no  more  pain.  Humbling  my 
head,  I  will  quietly  hope  and  wait  for  that  higher  light  which 
is  here  denied  to  us.  There  is  a  Grod ;  therefore  let  the 
murmurs  of  man  be  silent ! 

Edward  and  EUna  were  not  cruel,  as  the  children  of  earth 
are  commonly.  They  knew  not,  however,  what  suffering, 
what  pain,  were  ;  but  it  was  as  if  they  had  a  presentiment  of 
it,  and  their  most  earnest  endeavours  were  used,  when  they 
saw  its  horrible  expression,  to  render  help,  and  to  alleviate  it. 
If  a  poor  worm  crawled  in  the  dust,  hunted  forth  by  ants,  it 
was  immediately  released  by  their  hands,  placed  upon  the 
soft  grass  in  safety,  where  there  were  no  ants.  Whenever 
they  saw  a  little  bird  which,  accustomed  to  the  freedom  of 
the  woods,  with  ineffectual  flutterings  struck  its  little  head 
against  the  iron  wire  of  its  cage,  the  tears  came  to  their 
eyes,  they  besought  for  its  release  ;  and  if  their  prayers  were 
indeed  in  vain,  they  put  together  their  hoarded  pence  and 
purchased  it.  Then  it  went  out  in  the  field  with  the  happy 
little  ones.  The  door  of  its  cage  was  opened ;  and  when  the 
little  emancipated  one,  amid  exultant  twitterings,  described 


TnE  TWINS. 


4oa 


circle  ^-ithin  circle  above  their  heads,  then  did  the  children 
clap  their  hands,  and  their  hearts  beat  loudly  with  de 
light. 

Xot  a  day  passed  on  which  they  did  not  operate  against 
something  which  was  bad,  or  for  that  which  was  good.  Tg 
be  sure  the  spliere  of  the  children's  activity  was  but  small^ 
and  that  which  they  could  do  but  unimportant.  They  were 
young  artists,  who  early  accustomed  themselves  to  the  beau- 
tiful and  noble  parts  which  they  were  later  to  play  upon  the 
great  theatre  of  the  world. 

As  for  the  nests,  in  the  robbing  and  plundering  of  which 
boys  often  find  pleasure  in  the  bold  and  cruel  exercise  of 
their  strength,  Edward  and  Ellna  supplied  provision.  They 
laid  tliis  at  the  foot  of  the  trees  or  hedges,  where  the 
little  airy  families  had  built  their  summer-dwellings.  "  The 
mother  need  not  now  fly  so  far,"  said  they,  "and  her  little 
ones  need  not  wait  and  be  famished  !"  They  approached  the 
places  carefully,  where  the  mother  had  bedded  her  eggs  in  the 
grass,  silently  scattered  corn,  and  were  very  careful  not  to 
terrify  the  timid  bird,  which  often  by  degrees,  accustomed  to 
the  visits  of  the  little  angels,  only  flew  ofl"  twittering,  set 
itself  upon  a  bush  near,  and  waited  quietly  the  going-away  of 
the  children,  who  joyfully,  and  not  a  little  thankful  for  this 
proof  of  confidence,  stole  away  so  softly  and  lightly  that  the 
grass  rose  again  under  their  footsteps  as  if  it  had  only  been 
bowed  by  soft  breezes. 

In  order  that  they  might  not  tread  upon  ants,  which 
always  streamed  across  the  path  on  journeys  of  business, 
or  upon  frogs  which  hopped  before  their  feet,  the  children 
remained  standing,  or  made  a  little  circuit.  They  never 
intentionally  killed  an  animal,  nor  a  fly,  nor  even  a  gnat, 
those  Farias  of  the  air,  which  find  no  mercy  from  the  edu- 
cated part  of  the  human  race.  "  It  is  really  so  delightful  to 
live!"  said  the  amiable  little  ones.  I  once  even  saw  the 
little  Ellna  give  up  her  white  arms  and  hands  as  prey  to 
these  rapacious  bloodsuckers.  "I  give  them  their  suppers," 
said  she,  smiling  ;  "  and — it  does  not  hurt  me  much,"  added 
she  for  the  sake  of  her  brother,  who  now,  for  the  first  time, 
showed  the  somewhat  imperious  temper  the  man,  and  for- 
bade his  sister  to  do  this  again,  if  she  did  not  wish  that  he 
Bhould  extirpate  the  whole  race  of  gnats,  which  probably  did 

2  c2 


404 


THE  TWINS. 


£Lot  seem  more  diflScult  to  him  tlian  the  conquest  of  the  world 
to  Alexander. 

Ellna  was  obliged  to  submit.  The  gnats  were  chased 
away,  and  then  Edward  endeavoured  by  kisses  to  prevent  the 
bitten  places  from  swelling.  The  fresh  smiles  of  childhood 
beamed  from  their  countenances  as  they  thus  sportively  con^ 
tended,  Edward  to  give  kisses,  and  Ellna  to  avoid  them. 

I  said  that  they  never  intentionally  killed  an  animal, — I  was 
wrong.  If  they  saw  a  little  creature  tortured  by  the  pangs  of 
death,  a  fly  or  a  moth,  which  had  burned  themselves  in  the 
candle,  a  trodden,  but  yet  living  worm,  then  Edward,  as  the 
least  tender-hearted,  hastened,  with  averted  eyes  and  com- 
passionate foot,  the  moment  when  pangs  and  pains  would 
vanish. 

"  It  is  better  to  die  than  to  suffer,"  said  they,  and  turned 
away  with  pale  faces. 

"  These  children  are  too  good  for  this  earth,"  said  those 
who  knew  them ;  "  they  certainly  will  not  live  long." 

And  yet,  heavenly  Father,  it  would  be  well  amid  so  many 
pains,  amid  so  much  evil,  if  thou  wouldst  let  these  phe- 
nomena tarry  longer  here,  which  as  it  were  reveal  again  to  us 
the  stars  of  which  we  have  lost  sight,  which  gently  and  re- 
freshingly remind  us  of  whence  we  are  come,  and  whithei 
we  go. 

You  good  and  amiable  mortals — when  I  wish  that  you 
should  tarry  here,  I  do  so  for  our  sakes,  and  not  yours  !  If  the 
Vll-merciful  call  back  again  to  his  bosom  these  sparks  of  his 
spirit,  which  have  illumined  and  warmed  the  unworthy  world 
for  a.  moment — how  well  done  is  it  of  Him,  how  good  for  you ! 

The  May-day  of  childhood  was  passed  for  Edward  and 
Ellna, — their  youth  dawned.    They  counted  fifteen  years. 

Their  child-like  mind,  however,  was  not  much  changed. 
The  first  violet  which  looked  forth  from  under  the  snow,  the 
first  strawberry  which  was  reddened  by  the  beams  of  the  sun, 
still  called  forth  the  purple  joy  upon  their  cheeks  ;  and  the 
joy  or  the  pain  of  their  fellow-creatures  drew  from  them  now, 
as  before,  a  smile  or  a  tear.  Only  now  they  regarded  more 
than  formerly  their  fellow-beings  as  the  worthiest  objects  of 
their  care. 

There  was  not  witliin  tlie  compass  of  some  miles  a  single 
cottage  which  they  bad  not  visited.    The  goodness  of  theif 


THE  TWINS. 


405 


mother  gave  them  unceasing  opportunities  of  enjoying  the 
blessed  pleasure  of  benefiting  their  fellows.  "  Tell  us  what 
you  need,"  said  they  to  the  poor  and  sick  ;  "  if  we  can,  we  will 
help  you."  Now  there  was  a  softer  bed ;  now  more  healthy 
food ;  now  a  little  support  in  money ;  now  a  petition  on  be- 
half of  the  indigent,  which,  always  accompanied  by  gentle, 
kind  words,  spoken  by  two  of  the  sweetest  voices,  made  as 
deep  as  beneficial  an  impression.  "When  help  was  not  neces- 
sary, they  sought  at  least  to  prepare  a  little  pleasure ;  little 
presents  were  given  to  the  parents,  confections  to  the  chil- 
dren, who  of  all  the  benefits  most  highly  prize  those  TA  hich 
are  conferred  upon  their  sugar-loving  gums  ;  all  these  young 
lovers  of  noise  and  sweetmeats  alv;ays  attended  on  and  sa- 
luted Edward  and  Ellna  with  loud  cries  of  joy. 

People  warned  their  mother  of  the  manner  in  which  so 
much  goodness  might  be  abused.  She  replied,  *'  Do  not  let 
us  be  too  anxious.  One  single  opportunity  to  do  good  which 
is  lost,  as  is  often  the  case  from  mistrust,  is  an  irreparable 
loss.  I  acknowledge  that  we  are  often  deceived  by  others 
from  want  of  prudence ;  but  with  too  much  prudence  we  de- 
ceive ourselves.  And  then — ^if  you  only  knew  that  which  I 
feel  when  I  hear  every  mouth  blessing  my  children !" 

If  people  would  rightly  thank  Edward  and  Ellna  according 
to  their  wishes,  it  were  thus  that  they  must  speak  to  them  :  "  I 
am  now  better,  my  pains  are  alleviated or,  "  I  am  now  more 
joyful,  and  happier;"  or,  "  God  is  good,  he  will  not  allow  us 
to  despair ;"  then  were  their  hearts  filled  with  the  purest  joy, 
and  they  thanked  their  Maker. 

In  the  mean  time  their  happy  endeavours,  their  charitable 
cares,  were  not  extended  alone  to  the  poor  and  the  less  edu- 
cated classes  of  the  people  ;  they  sought  to  assuage  not 
merely  the  care  which  weeps,  the  suffering  which  expresses 
itself  aloud,  the  silent  sorrow,  the  consuming  unrest,  those 
small  but  insupportable  afflictions  which  people  do  not  will- 
ingly confess,  but  which  are  so  painful, — all  those  adverse 
circumstances  which  hang  like  chains  about  the  slaves  of  the 
polite  and  educated  world,  they  imagined,  and  endeavoured 
with  compassionate  hands  to  lighten.  One  look,  which  in  an 
unwatchful  moment  betokened  a  depressed  heart, — one  ges- 
ture, one  move^ment,  which  betrayed  embarrassment — a  con- 
sequence mostly  of  uneasiness  of  mind^ — seldom  escaped 


THE  TWINS. 


their  eyes ;  and  they  always  discovered  some  means  to  make 
at  least  a  few  moments  agreeable  to  those  who  seemed  to  be 
deprived  of  peace  and  satisfaction  of  heart. 

When  EUna  saw  in  society  a  sister-being  to  whom  nature 
had  dealt  hardly,  and  who,  in  one  way  or  another,  seemed  to. 
betray  the  painful  consciousness  that  she  was  unpleasing,  she 
sought  immediately  to  become  acquainted  with  her ;  she  went 
towards  her,  caressed  her,  and  endeavoured  in  all  ways  to 
convince  her  that  she  found  her  loveable,  and  that  she  was 
gladly  in  company  with  her.  Edward  also  came  immediately 
to  her  assistance  ;  and  the  attentiveness  with  which  he  offered 
a  thousand  of  those  little  favours  which  one  can  never 
demand,  but  which  are  received  with  so  much  pleasure, — his 
unconstrained  lively  politeness, — made,  in  connexion  with 
the  charming  friendliness  of  the  sister,  an  irresistible  impres- 
sion. If,  on  the  other  hand,  Edward  saw  a  youth  who  was 
neglected,  or  overlooked,  or  dejected,  he  always  tried  to  get 
into  conversation  with  him  immediately.  If  they  danced,  he 
introduced  his  sister  Ellna,  who  in  the  goodness  of  her  heart 
preferred  him  to  all  the  rich,  handsome,  and  elegant  young 
gentlemen  who  sought  for  one  of  her  beaming  glances. 

How  often  have  I  seen  countenances  which  betrayed  minds 
depressed,  displeased,  or  embittered,  clear  themselves  up 
under  the  influence  of  the  twins,  and  by  degrees  reflect  back 
their  gentle  and  beaming  smiles.  Plain  features  became 
thereby  beautified,  and  one  read  long  afterwards,  in  their 
more  agreeable  expression,  "  We  can  nevertheless  be  found 
to  be  amiable !" 

One  eveniug,  at  a  dance  in  tbe  open  air,  I  perceived  that 
Ellna  had  no  longer  a  little  bouquet  which  her  brother  had 
made  for  her  out  of  the  loveliest  flowers  of  the  garden.  I 
asked  her  whether  she  had  lost  it.  "  I  have  given  it  away," 
replied  she,  reddening,  and  left  me  to  dance  at  the  same 
moment.  I  looked  curiously  around  me  among  the  young 
and  loveable  persons  of  the  ball ;  no  one  had  Ellna's  little 
bouquet.  Afterwards  I  perceived,  upon  a  bench  Avhich  stood 
at  some  distance,  a  deformed,  feeble  being,  whose  limbs  were 
all  twisted ;  he  held  EUna's  flowers  in  his  emaciated  hand, 
and  repeated  softly,  with  an  expression  of  devotion,  "  The 
angel ! — the  angel !  she  thought,  she  said,  that  flowers  would 
do  me  good;  yes,  they  do  me  good, — 0  w^hat  an  angel! ' 


THE  TWINS. 


407 


How  tappy  they  were,  these  young,  so  lovely  and  so  good, 
brother  and  sister ;  how  worthy  of  love  they  were,  and  how 
much  beloved !  People  prided  themselves  on  them  in  the 
whole  country,  just  as  they  pride  themselves  on  the  gifts 
which  nature  has  bestowed  on  the  country  or  neighbourhood 
which  we  call  our  own,  and  of  which  we  are  so  proud.  Peo- 
ple call  them  the  angels  ;  and,  in  fact,  when  one  saw  them, 
when  one  heard  their  melodious  voices  united  in  a  simple  song 
of  praise  in  honour  of  the  Creator,  one  could  forget  every- 
thing else,  and  for  some  moments  fancy  oneself  in  heaven. 

The  tenderness  which  twin-children  commonly  cherish  for 
each  other,  was  so  deep,  so  inward,  between  Edward  and 
Ellna,  that  I  fancy  they  had  scarcely  a  notion  of  an  existence 
apart  from  each  other.  They  thought,  they  acted  together ; 
they  always  said  we ;  they  felt  only  their  I  in  each  other ; 
this  J,  which,  when  it  is  felt  quite  alone  in  oneself,  is  so 
heavy,  so  painful  a  burden. 

The  beautiful  life  of  the  twins  had  hitherto  flowed  on  with- 
out a  cloud.  No  sickness,  no  care,  no  disaster,  had  cast  one 
shadow  on  their  pure  brows.  Life,  which  otherwise  is  so 
severe  a  teacher,  seemed  to  hold  her  children  in  honour,  and, 
for  the  first  time,  as  if  she  could  not  be  stern.  Each  new  day 
brought  with  it  something  to  beautify  them.  Their  counte- 
nances became  more  oval,  and  took  ever  more  and  more  the 
lovely  Grecian  form.  Their  figures  increased  in  more  beau- 
tiful pliability,  like  two  young  trees  which  have  entwined 
their  crowns  together.  Their  smiles  were  fuller  of  expres- 
sion, and  the  goodness  of  their  hearts  beamed  ever  clearer 
forth  from  their  large  blue  eyes. 

People  approached  these  favourites  of  Heaven  and  men 
almost  with  adoration ;  people  could  have  ofiered  sacrifices  to 
them  ;  and  yet,  if  one  would  contribute  anything  to  their 
happiness,  one  must  receive  something  from  them.  It  was 
to  me  as  if  I  saw  in  them  young  priests  at  the  altar  of  Mercy, 
who  imparted  with  humility  the  gifts  of  the  divinity. 

Their  mother, — so  much  has  been  said,  perhaps  all  that 
can  be  said  in  words,  of  maternal  love  and  maternal  felicity, 
but  the  love  and  felicity  of  this  mother  cannot  be  described 
by  words,  can,  perhaps,  only  be  compared  to  the  felicity  of 
the  mother  who  saw  the  most  holy  glory  of  Heaven  around 
the  head  of  her  son. 


408 


THE  TWINS. 


At  the  age  of  sixteen,  they  stood  in  the  full  bloom  of  earthly, 
and  at  the  same  time,  of  celestial  beauty.  The  world  opened 
itself  to  them  full  of  joy,  love,  and  happiness.  Before  them 
lay  a  light,  flower-strewn,  peaceful  way,  upon  which  they 
could  wander  together,  beloved  and  loving  in  return,  happy 
and  making  happy.  They  could  be  the  benefactors  and  ex- 
amples to  their  fellow-creatures  ;  they  could  be  so,  and  yet 
they  could  not, — at  the  age  of  sixteen  they  must  die ! 

At  the  beginning  of  winter,  Edward's  Apollo-countenance 
began  to  burn  with  a  hectic  crimson,  which  kindled  up  and 
dyed  his  youthful  cheeks  with  brighter  red ;  but  which,  in 
the  course  of  a  few  hours,  faded  like  a  feeble  flame,  and  left 
behind  the  paleness  of  death.  His  strength  began  to  fail, 
his  beautiful  slender  figure  bent  forward  like  a  tender  young 
tree  which  has  been  bowed  by  the  storm  ;  his  breath  became 
short ;  his  hitherto  so  ardent  movements  slow  and  languid, 
and  his  eyes  had  a  clearness  which  promised  the  speedy  light- 
ing up  of  the  whole  being.  The  opinion  of  the  physician  was 
this — Consumption,  and  only  yet  a  few  months  to  live. 

O  now,  how  was  everything  changed !  As  he  approached 
the  grave,  Edward  looked  around  him  upon  life,  that  seemed 
passed  away  from  his  eyes  like  his  native  shore  from  the  sight 
of  the  seaman. 

"  I  am  so  young,"  said  he,  amid  deep  sighs ;  "  and  must 
die  already !  I  shall  leave  thee,  Ellna — must  part  from  thee 
and  our  mother!  And  this  beautiful  life,  this  charming 
earth,  good  people,  all,  all  I  must  leave,  and  die  1  O  the  dark 
grave,  wherein  I  shall  be  laid  alone — how  horrible !" 

Everything  that  Ellna  said  and  did  had  alone  for  its  object 
consolation  and  alleviation  for  her  brother.  And  neverthe- 
less she  was  so  wholly  unhappy ;  but  she  never  thought  of 
herself 

She  said  to  Edward,  "  The  sun  has  a  wonderful  power,  my 
brother ;  come  to  the  window,  and  let  it  shine  on  thee  ;  see, 
here  is  a  soft  chair ;  here  are  lilies  of  the  valley,  which  I 
have  fetched  for  thee ;  enjoy  their  delightful  odour ;  they 
send,  especially  in  winter,  presentiments  of  spring  over  all 
our  feelings."  Or  she  said,  "  Eest  on  me,  my  brother ;  thus 
thou  wilt  sit  comfortably,  and  I  will  not  stir."  And  with 
her  brother's  head  on  her  breast  she  sate  whole  hours  im* 
uiovable  there,  taking  pains  to  keep  time  with  liis  breathing, 


THE  TWINS. 


409 


and  to  repress  the  uneasy  beating  of  her  heart.  Another 
time  she  said,  "  Dost  thou  see  how  the  clouds  divide,  how  the 
heavens  clear  themselves  up  ?  It  opens,  as  it  were,  and 
beams  so  mildly  and  blue  above  us.  It  is  the  answer  of  the 
All-good  to  my  prayer,  which  I  just  now  fervently  put  up  to 
Him.  The  heaven  of  our  happiness  has  dimmed  itself — it 
will  clear  up  again — thou  wilt  not  die 

Sometimes  she  sought  also  to  awaken  hope  in  his  and  her 
own  breast,  by  jest  and  sport.  She  danced  before  him,  threw 
playfully  around  him  the  light  scarf  which  her  hands  wreathed 
in  a  thousand  graceful  forms  around  her  own  ethereal  figure. 
She  sang  to  him  those  little  ballads  and  songs  which  life  so 
easily  takes  hold  of,  and  makes  it  also  easy  to  those  who  listen 
to  their  attractive  tones.  But  when  only  a  feeble  smile,  a 
melancholy  reflection  of  the  former  blissful  one,  appeared  on 
Edward's  pale  lips,  then  suddenly  were  extinguished  aU  beams 
of  hope  in  Ellna's  eyes,  and  the  twins  wept  together. 

Often  did  she  encourage  him  to  make  use  of  those  means 
for  the  renewal  of  life's  strength  which,  particularly  in  con- 
sumption, are  resorted  to,  in  order  that  the  weak  thread  of 
life  may  not  too  suddenly  be  torn  asunder.  All  these  she 
prepared  with  her  own  hand.  Who  can  number  all  that  her 
inventive  love  discovered,  to  procure  for  him  alleviation  and 
amusement  ?  Without  the  knowledge  of  her  brother,  she 
held  her  hands  in  ice-cold  water,  that  she  might  afterwards 
cool  his  burning  forehead  as  she  laid  them  upon  it.  When 
she  watched  by  his  bed  through  sleepless  nights,  she  read 
aloud  to  him,  and  told  him  such  things  as  she  thought  would 
best  please  his  then  state  of  mind ;  for  his  state  of  mind 
iN'as,  as  is  the  case  with  consumptive  patients,  unsteady  and 
^.hangeable.  And  in  those  gloomy  moments  in  which  Edward 
shuddered  at  the  prospect  of  dying  so  young,  and  being  alone 
— for  he  could  not  conceive  to  himself  that  he  should  not  miss 
his  sister  in  the  grave — then  Ellna  would  promise  to  follow 
him.  "  How  could  I  do  otherwise  ?"  added  she  ;  "  I  reaUy 
feel  my  life  in  thine  !" 

Yes,  she  could  console; — and  what  woman,  what  true 
woman  cannot  ?  I  ought,  perhaps,  seeing  that  I  myself  am 
a  woman,  to  be  more  modest, — but  if  I  believe  it,  if  I  ex- 
press it,  it  is  because  I  love, — and  because,  although  I  cannot 
turn  aside  the  stroke  of  fate  from  the  beings  who  are  dear  to 


*10 


THE  TWINS. 


me,  I  liave  set  the  hope  of  my  whole  life  on  alleviating  it. 
Yes,  I  "believe  it  is  we  alone  who  can  solve  the  enigma  of  pain 
in  its  least  parts  ;  and  that  it  is  given  alone  to  us,  in  the  in- 
spiration of  feeling  and  of  love,  to  have  a  presentiment  of  the 
evil  which  pain  occasions,  of  that  which  is  concealed  in  the 
gnawing  disease  of  the  sick.  I  hope  and  believe,  and  let 
nobody  gainsay  me,  that  as  in  the  beginning  of  time,  the 
genius  of  evil  sowed  poisonous  seed  in  the  flower-garden  of 
creation,  still  that  a  mitigating  balsam  was  placed  by  the  All- 
good  in  the  hands  of  woman,  which  could  make  the  power 
of  these  less  operative. 

Ellna  had  said  to  Edward,  "  I  will  follow  thee !" — and  she 
soon  followed  him.  The  same  symptoms  of  disease  showed 
themselves  at  the  beginning  of  the  spring  in  her,  and  the 
mischief  made  rapid  progress  in  her  tender  frame,  weakened 
by  disquiet  and  night -watching. 

To  her  the  sentence  of  death  was  also  announced  by  an 
honest  and  candid  physician,  who  feared,  above  all  things,  to 
add  new  troubles  to  what  was  already  incurable  by  fruitless 
attempts  at  recovery. 

"We  are  so  young,  and  yet  we  must,  indeed,  die!"  said 
now  Edward  and  Ellna,  painfully.  But  this  ive,  that  united 
them,  was  already  a  drop  of  comfort  in  the  bitter  cup. 

They  took  leave  together  of  the  flowers  of  spring,  took 
leave  of  every  day  which  unmercifully  dragged  away  with  it  a 
drop  of  their  life's  strength.  People  saw  them  often,  as, 
supported  on  each  other,  they  wandered  about  with  feeble 
steps  and  sorrowful  looks  in  the  wood,  in  the  fields,  in  the 
groves,  where  they  had  once  played  so  happily ;  they  took 
leave  of  everything  ;  of  the  earth,  even  of  heaven,  which 
seemed,  however,  only  so  glorious  to  them,  because  it  arched 
itself  above  an  earth  which  was  a  paradise  to  them. 

"Farewell,  everything  which  we  have  loved!"  said  they; 
"  we  must  leave  all,  we  must  soon  die !" 

When  people  spoke  in  their  presence  of  future  enjoyments, 
or  of  future  good  deeds,  with  the  intention  to  amuse  them, 
or,  as  it  were,  to  enlarge  the  view,  which  an  approaching 
night  shut  in  ever  more  narrowly — they  said,  with  tearful 
eyes,  "  We  shall  not  be  there  ;  we  must  die  !" 

"  Come  to  me  in  the  autumn,"  said  one  of  their  neigh- 
bours, "  when  my  grapes  and  peaches  are  ripe,  and  there 


THE  TWINS. 


411 


yliall  be  served-up  to  you  an  actual  angel's  entertain- 
ment." 

"  In  autumn  we  cannot  come,"  returned  they, — "  in  autumn 
we  shall  be  no  more." 

"IN^ext  month,"  said  a  lively  old  gentleman,  who  was  their 
friend,  "  my  grandchildren,  Alfred  and  Signild,  come  to  me. 
They  are  good  and  beautiful ;  not,  indeed,  like  the  angels, 
but,  believe  my  spectacles  and  my  heart,  not  far,  not  very  far 
from  it.  Alfred  shall  be  Ellna's  husband  ;  and  the  little 
Signild,  who  is  the  apple  of  my  eye,  Edward  shall  have  for 
his  wife.  Quick  and  merry,  like  the  chain  in  the  quadrille, 
shall  all  go  on  in  a  twinkling, — falling  in  love,  betrothal,  and 
marriage.  And  a  little  kingdom  of  heaven  one  shall  then 
find  here." 

"Ah!"  replied  the  angels,  sorrowfully  smiling,  "  we  can- 
not be  married,  we  must  really  die  !" 

And  in  all  ways,  and  from  all  sides,  came  this  death  to- 
wards them  sternly  and  severely,  forbidding  and  disturbing  all 
joy,  and  changing  everything  into  twilight  and  night. 

And  yet  they  must  learn  to  love  this  death,  which  appeared 
to  them  so  fearful. 

Pain — the  condition  of  life,  and  the  terrible  side  of  life — 
which  hitherto  had  not  ventured  to  approach  these  angelic 
beings,  struck  now  its  hysena-claws  into  their  breast. 

I  had  heard  them  say  "  we  must  die  !"  with  an  expression 
that  bewailed  "we  must  leave  the  festival!"  Soon  after- 
wards I  heard  them  speak  the  same  words,  but  in  a  tone 
which  expressed,  "  we  shall  soon  repose !" 

Thank  Heaven,  this  time  of  suffering  was  of  short  dura- 
tion ;  repose  came  before  the  grave,  and  only  a  slow,  almost 
painless  wasting  away,  led  them  unobservedly  down  to  the 
shore  of  life,  where  they  might  still  gather  a  few  flowers. 

In  the  mean  time  they  had  suflered,  gained  experience,  and 
from  before  their  eyes  vanished  the  fading  prism  which  had 
clothed  the  whole  world  with  purple. 

They  looked  around  them,  and  the  paradise  had  vanished, — 
they  saw  tears,  crimes,  sufferings,  circumstances  of  terror,  for 
the  alleviation  of  which  they  stretched  out  their  feeble  hands 
in  vain.  Human  misery,  with  whose  signification  they  were 
now  first  acquainted,  raised  itself  like  a  dark  image  of  hor 


412 


THE  TWINS, 


ror,  a-^:  spread  a  veil  of  mourning  over  the  whole  beautifiil 
earth. 

"  People  suffer/'  said  they,  "  animals  suffer ;  all  that 
breathe  suffer,  or  must  suffer — it  is  not  good  to  be  here — 
this  is  the  home  of  suffering !"  and  they  no  longer  wished 
to  live — except,  thought  they,  to  be  able  to  console  a  little 
and  to  help.  "  But  that  which  we  can  do  is  really  so  very 
little !"  and  a  melancholy  glance  of  thought  embraced  the 
globe. 

About  this  time  a  good,  enlightened  clergyman  began  to 
give  them  instructions  in  the  religion  to  which  they  were 
baptized.  In  their  angelically  pure  souls  sprang  up  the 
heavenly  seed,  and  bore  a  hundred-fold,  as  if  in  the  good 
earth  of  which  the  Gospel  speaks. 

Their  looks  brightened  by  degrees  with  the  increase  of  the 
light  within  them  ;  they  were  often,  it  is  true,  cast  down  upon 
the  earth,  and  they  sighed,  "  This  world  is  not  good !"  but 
they  soon  raised  them  beaming  to  heaven  in  the  joyful  feel- 
ing, "  there  is  a  better  world  1" 

The  night  which  had  encompassed  them  for  a  time,  became 
ever  brighter  and  brighter,  and  glorious  was  the  path  which 
opened  itself  to  them  in  the  splendour  of  a  celestial  light. 
Thither  they  directed  their  looks,  thither  all  their  hopes,  all 
their  desires.  Presentiments  of  eternity  penetrated  them, 
and  as  they  looked  upon  each  other  with  a  blessed  smile,  they 
whispered,  "  We  are  immortal." 

When  they,  for  the  first  time,  had  enjoyed  the  holy  com- 
munion, peace  alone  was  in  their  hearts,  and  the  beam  of 
their  eyes  was  only  a  faint  reflection  of  their  inward  bright- 
ness. 

One  anxiety,  one  only  one,  remained  to  them  still,  and  this 
often  expressed  itself  softly  amid  sweet  tears,  when  they  knelt 
adoringly  before  the  eternal  Fountain  of  Life;  "  O  Father,'* 
said  they,  "  if  thy  love,  thy  power  should  sometime  penetrate 
and  surround  us  with  brightness,  like  this  glorious  image  of 
thee,  how — how  shall  we  be  able  to  thank  thee  ?" 

So  passed  the  summer,  whilst  the  angels,  cheerfully  and 
submissively,  resigned  day  by  day,  flower  by  flower,  the  crown 
of  life. 

Autumn  approached — with  it,  at  the  same  time,  the  earthly 


411 


transfiguration  of  the  twins.  The  nights  passed  iav  them 
sleeplesslj.  When  it  was  possible,  they  passed  them  in  the 
open  air,  where  their  oppressed  lungs  breathed  more  freely, 
and  the  moist  coolness  mitigated  the  fever  that  burned  in 
their  blood. 

Whilst  the  August  nights  mildly  and  peacefully  wrapped 
slumbering  nature  in  mournful  twilight,  there  burned  in  the 
souls  of  the  dying  brother  and  sister  the  clear  torches  of  hope 
and  of  joy. 

I  have  heard  them,  those  words ;  I  have  seen  them,  those 
looks,  full  of  immortality — for  which  there  already  existed  no 
longer  any  night.  And  afterwards,  for  a  long  time,  every- 
thing in  life  seemed  to  me  pale  and  colourless. 

Autumn  was  come.  Feebly  sank  the  lovely  heads  of  the 
twius  upon  the  cushions  which  were  placed  around  them  on 
the  sofa,  from  which  they  were  never  more  able  to  rise. 
Those  who  loved  them,  now  counted  the  seconds. 

Suffering  themselves,  Ellna  and  Edward  sought,  neverthe- 
less, to  comfort  and  to  enliven  the  mourners  whom  they  must 
reave.  "  We  will  watch  over  you,*'  said  they,  "when  we  are 
angels, — we  will  entreat  Grod  for  you.'* 

They  looked  farewell  upon  all  when  they  were  no  more 
able  to  speak;  and  when  their  weary  eyelids  closed,  they 
blissfully  smiled. 

Towards  the  last,  however,  a  troubling  disquiet  crept  into 
their  hearts.  They  feared  that  they  might  not  die  at  the 
same  time — might  not  pass  away  together  to  that  home  of 
light,  of  peace,  and  of  joy,  for  which  they  alone  longed. 

Sitting  near  to  each  other,  they  watched,  with  secret 
anguish  in  each  other's  countenance,  the  progress  of  the 
disease.  "  How  brightly  beam  thy  eyes  !'*  said  Edward  to 
Ellna.  "  Thy  countenance  has  no  longer  anything  earthly  in 
it.  It  seems  to  me  as  if  thou  couldst  spread  forth  glittering 
wings  every  morning,  and  float  forth  into  the  clear  heaven, 
far,  far  from  me!"  And  catching  her  round  the  waist,  he 
pressed  her  to  his  heart  with  all  the  power  of  his  feeble 
strength.  Another  time  it  was  Ellna  who  said  with  a 
trembling  voice,  "  Edward,  how  sunken  are  thy  cheeks,  how 
dim  thy  eyes !  Oh,  look  at  me !  look  at  me  !  Thy  breath 
becomes  weaker — it  ceases !  Let  me  give  to  thee  of  mine— 
I  have  yet  enough  for  us  both."  And  seizing  the  head  of  her 


THE  rwiis's. 


brotlier  with  her  weak  hand,  she  endeavoured,  amid  kisses,  tc 
communicate  some  of  the  feeble  breath  of  life  which  she  felt 
in  her  own  breast. 

Thus  did  the  dying  brother  and  sister  endeavour  to  hold 
back,  as  it  were,  each  other,  whilst  they  felt  how  they  were 
rapidly  led  forward  by  a  mighty,  invisible  hand. 

Friends,  acquaintance,  all  who  had  known  and  loved  the 
angels,  assembled  around  them.  As  if  to  an  altar,  everything 
which  people  thought  pleasant  and  gladdening,  was  brought 
into  their  sick  room.  They  did  not  give  them,  no,  they 
offered  to  them,  as  it  were,  flowers,  fruits,  together  with 
heartfelt  wishes — honest  tears — which  were  received  by  the 
twins  with  grateful  smiles,  and  this  promise — "  We  will  soon 
pray  for  you!" 

They  placed  harps  in  the  room  adjoining  the  sick  chamber, 
and  often  played  and  sung  them  into  quiet  slumber.  When 
people  contemplated  them  in  those  moments  when  the  soul 
had  taken  a  freer  flight  into  the  spiritual  land  of  dreams, 
wanting  no  longer  time  and  space,  but  floating  forth  over 
wondrous  lands,  having  a  presentiment  of  their  future  free 
and  beautiful  existence — then  they  saw,  in  the  indescribable, 
expression  of  their  calm  features,  that  they  were  removed  far, 
far  from  the  earth,  and  that  for  them  the  eternity  of  bliss  had 
already  arrived. 

In  the  evening,  they  sometimes  said  to  each  other,  with 
gentle  smiles,  "  Shall  we  awake  to-morrow  in  heaven  ?" 

During  a  tempestuous  October  night,  sleep  descended  un- 
usually quietly  and  mildly  upon  the  loving  angels.  Counting 
every  stroke  of  the  clock,  the  mother  and  her  friends  watched 
in  the  quiet  room. 

"  How  well  they  sleep  !"  whispered  they  who  ventured  to 
speak.  "  It  strikes  twelve.  See  how  they  smile  in  delightful 
dreams  !  The  morning  dawns, — they  yet  sleep.  The  storm 
has  ceased — heaven  brightens — the  day  breaks  beautifully, — 
yet  they  sleep.  Hark !  they  sigh.  Or  was  it  the  wind  which 
passes  the  window  ?" 

The  sun  ascended,  caressingly  shone  the  golden  beams  on 
the  angel-faces  of  the  twins.  They  sleep  no  longer.  They 
were  awake — but  in  heaven  !  Pure  flames,  kindled  from,  the 
same  spark,  which  had  burned  together ;  now  also  are  they 
extinguished  here  i  pon  earth  at  the  same  time ! 


THE  TWINS. 


415 


Thej  had  been  earthly  angels,  they  are  now  heavenly ;  and 
when  an  unexpected  consolation,  an  unexpected  joy  refreshes 
one  who  is  troubled  and  cast  down,  he  says,  "  TJie^  have 
prayed  for  me." 

And  their  mother,  their  poor  mother  ? 

Do  you  see,  by  the  wall  of  the  churchyard,  that  female 
figure,  which  sits  there  upon  a  stone,  as  immovable  as  it  ? 
Negligently  fall  down  upon  her  shoulders  locks  of  grey  hair 
— the  wind  plays  with  her  tattered  garments.  She  is  old 
and  stilF,  but  not  merely  through  the  influence  of  years.  Do 
not  pass  coldly  by — give  her  your  sympathy — she  will  not 
much  longer  trouble  you.  Look  at  her  crutches,  at  her 
dimmed  eyes,  at  the  pain  of  her  silent  mouth.  Why  does 
she  sit  here  ?  Because  she  cannot  be  anywhere  else.  She 
is  where  her  heart  also  tarries,  by  the  grave  of  her  children. 
Grrief  for  them  has  troubled  the  light  of  her  eyes  and  of  her 
reason.  She  does  not  observe  how  the  leaves  of  autumn  fall 
around  her — she  feels  not  when  the  winds  of  spring  melt  the 
snow  upon  the  grave, — but  every  day  she  goes  there,  and  the 
summer's  heat  and  the  winter's  cold  find  her  alike  uncon- 
scious. No  one  whom  she  knows  speaks  to  her,  and  she 
speaks  to  no  one.  She  has,  nevertheless,  an  object ;  she 
waits — for  what  ? — for  death !  Through  the  course  of  many 
years  has  she  seen  the  graves  around  her  open  and  receive 
weary  wanderers  to  their  quiet  peaceful  bosom — but  she  still 
sits  a  dead  one  among  the  dead,  and  waits. 

April  1st. 

Be  ye  saluted  by  me,  mild  breezes,  which  melt  away  the 
winter-snow  ;  be  thou  saluted,  bright  spring-sun,  whicli  pe- 
netrates with  warmth  and  life  the  dust  of  the  grave  !  Trom 
the  home  of  the  dead,  from  the  still  churchyard,  have  I  to-day 
saluted  life.  I  love  this  peaceful  place,  where  the  unquiet, 
throbbing  heart,  where  everything,  comes  to  repose.  I  also 
feel  in  a  breast,  which  has  not  been  able  to  wait  the  time,  the 
unquiet  captive,  which  now  in  pain,  now  in  joy,  throbs  so 
restlessly  and  violently,  and  it  does  me  good  when  I  can 
think  that  a  time  will  come,  when  mine  also  will  be  among 
the  reposing  hearts. 

The  larks  sang  in  the  clear  air  above  the  trees,  on  the 
grave  of  the  twins.  There  sate,  as  before,  the  mother  still 
and  immovable  upon  a  stone.    A  whistling  Avind  parsed  over 


416 


THE  SOLITARY, 


the  churchyard,  I  saw  a  shudder  thrill  through  her  frame.  I 
approached  her,  she  bowed  her  head  against  one  of  the  lime- 
trees  on  the  grave,  and  still  smiled.  I  saw  with  joy,  ihat 
also  her  time  of  trial  was  at  an  end — that  she  waited  no 
longer ! 

YoLi  beautiful  flowers  of  the  spring,  now  where  the  May 
sun  calls  you  forth  out  of  the  renovated  earth,  cover  and 
brilliantly  adorn  the  grave,  which  will  no  longer  be  moistened 
with  bitter  maternal  tears ! 

Lovely  lilies  of  the  valley,  soft  periwinkle,  grow  upon  the 
hillock — 

Even  as  the  scai  grows  over  the  dosed  wound}— -Tegner, 


PREFACE  TO  TRALIfflM 


(THE  BONDMAID). 

A  BELOVED  friend,  to  whom  I  would  communicate  my 
warm  interest  in  the  Northern  Legends  of  the  Gods,  lead 
aloud  with  me,  during  solitary  autumn  evenings  in  the  country, 
a  learned  disquisition  upon  them.  Her  countenance  con- 
tinued steadfastly  cloudy  and  dissatisfied  during  the  whole, 
and  when  she  came  to  the  words — "  Loke,  found  the  half- 
roasted  heart  of  a  woman,"  she  flung  the  book  vehemently 
from  her  and  exclaimed, — "  Nay !  I  can  bear  this  no  longer ! 
It  is  too  monstrous  !  too  disgusting !  It  makes  me  actually 
iU!" 

"  And  yet,"  I  zealously  interposed — "  I  assure  you  there 
is  much  and  deep  meaning  in  this  mythology,  and  the  greatest 
interest,  if  we  " 

"  That  may  be,"  interrupted  my  friend  somewhat  impa- 
tiently, "  but  to  comprehend  it,  I  promise  you  I  must  take 
another  method.  Do  you  write  something  about  this  mean- 
ing that  you  consider  so  deep,  and  then  I  shall  see  whether 
I  can  comprehend  or  endure  it." 

The  challenge  was  accepted  with  laughter ;  the  execution 
of  it  drew  forth  tears, — for  the  misery  and  the  darkness  of 
the  past  arose,  and  was  felt  as  present.  Three  days  after  our 
little  conversation,  the  Bondmaideis'  was  written ;  and  I 
proposed  to  read  it  aloud  to  my  friend,  while  by  way  of  pro- 
logue I  said,  "  I  have  here  endeavoured  to  collect  into  one 
tangible  picture  what  our  forefathers  believed  respecting  gods 
and  men,  about  life  and  death,  heaven  and  hell,  as  well  as 
earthly  things.  In  the  dawn  of  the  world,  as  in  that  of  the 
day,  we  see  first  the  shadows  of  night  still  rest  on  the  earth, 
yet  at  the  same  time  we  behold  the  morning  red  of  the  eternal 
truth,  and  herald  of  the  sun,  in  whose  light  our  race  has 
acquired  light,  and  the  slave  his  freedom."  My  friend  lis- 
tened to  my  prologue  in  silence,  and  I  commenced  my  read- 
ing. 

2  D 


418 


PREFACE  TO  TRALINNAT?". 


It  is  always  a  hard  matter  to  go  through  with,  as  my  friend, 
whenever  I  begin  to  read  to  her  any  of  my  compositions,  is 
sure  to  begin  mercilessly  to  gape.  I  say  "to  go  through 
with,"  because  I  have  found  that  if  the  article  rivet  her  at- 
tention, which  heaven  knows  is  not  always  the  case,  the 
gapings  quickly  disappear,  and  give  place  to  most  lively  and 
enchanting  sympathy.  As  now,  therefore,  with  a  secret 
glance  at  my  friend,  I  began  to  read  aloud  "  the  Bondmaiden," 
and  with  a  dreadful  feeling  saw  her  let  one  undisguised  yawn 
follow  another,  I  pretended  not  in  the  least  to  perceive  it, 
but  read  on,  and  soon  beheld,  to  my  great  consolation,  the 
mouth  close  itself,  and  the  eyes  and  ears  become  profoundly 
attentive.  The  result  of  the  reading  was,  nevertheless,  but 
little  edifying. 

"  Ah,  my  poor  soul!"  said  my  friend  with  a  deep  sigh, 
"  that  truly  was  no  amusing  history  !  Eor  your  Krumba,  or 
Tumba,  or  Katakumba,  is  too  hideous ;  and  then  the  con- 
clusion— ah  !  it  is  horribly  tiresome  altogether  !" 

I  defended  my  Bondmaiden  the  best  that  I  could,  at  the 
same  time  observing  that  her  name  was  Kumba,  and  not 
either  Tumba  or  Katakumba.  My  friend's  last  words  were, 
It  may  be  very  true  that  she  is  beautiful.  I  would  willingly 
wish  to  believe  so  ;  but  I  beg  to  be  excused  liking  her.  There 
is  interest  enough  about  her ;  but  the  conclusion,  the  con- 
clusion  !" 

The  Bondmaid  continued  a  good  while  after  this  in  silence, 
undergoing,  the  while,  first  one  and  then  another  change,  but 
still  without  being  able  to  win  my  friend's  favour.'  I  have 
now  resolved  to  make  the  public,  from  whose  decision,  as 
from  that  of  Grod  himself,  there  is  no  appeal,  the  judge  be- 
tween us  ;  and  to  hear  what  it  says  of  the  Bondmaiden.  My 
friend  assures  me,  that  no  one  can  desire  more  cordially  than 
she,  that  "  Katakumba" — she  has  perversely  taken  a  deter- 
mined whim  to  call  my  Bondmaiden  thus — may  be  admired 
and  I  protest  to  my  friend,  that  no  one  can  more  heartily 
chime  in  with  her  desire  than 

The  AuTnoEEss. 


TRALIMM: 

A  SKETCH  FROM  THE  OLDEN  TIME. 


PERSONS. 

Eeid,  King's  Daughter,  betrothed  to  King  Dag. 

i  Bondmaids. 

Grimgerda,  a  Sorceress. 
A  Spirit  of  Light. 
A  Spirit  of  Darkness. 

The  Scene  is  a  woody  mountain  region.  Amongst  the  rocks  rises  the  Castle  of 
a  Viking.    On  one  side  is  the  Sea;  on  the  other  a  Flower- Garden. 


Act  I. — Scene  I. 

The  Flower  Garden.  Teima  hinds  ujp  flowers  to  their  sup^ 
ports.  KuMBA  waters  them, 
Frtd.  The  morning  is  delicious  and  clear.  Yet  glitters 
in  the  grass  the  honey-dew  from  the  Mima  tree.  The 
Nornor  sprinkle  its  crown  with  water  from  the  sacred  foun- 
tain, and  let  it  softly  rain  down  in  heavenly  sweetness  over 
the  flowers  and  leaves  of  the  field.  The  bee  sucks  it  from 
the  bosom  of  the  flowers,  and  then  bestows  the  precious  juice 
on  man,  which  is  delicious  both  to  the  sick  and  the  sound. 
How  beautiful,  how  rich,  is  Nature,  how  full  of  wisdom  are 
all  her  arrangements  !  How  great  is  the  goodness  of  Grod, 
who  shaped  the  earth  for  mankind  like  a  cup  filled  with 
honey !  Brightly  advances  the  sun  on  his  hero  path,  de- 
ceive my  greeting,  thou  illuminator  of  spirits ;  thou  at 
whose  fire  spirits  of  light  and  spirits  of  darkness  assemble 
themselves  aflectionately  to  prepare  the  golden  harvest  of 
the  earth !  Here  all  burns,  here  all  rejoices  in  the  splen- 
dour of  the  All-Father's  eye  !  The  All-Father  is  light, 
is  fire.  Love,  too,  is  fire^  is  an  animated  flame  sprung  from 
the  All-Father's  bosom.  O  Sun !  thou,  the  image  of  his 
person  ;  thou,  warm  and  glorious  as  love ;  I  bow  myself  in 
adoration  before  thee,  and  pray  thee  to  protect  a  flame 
pure  and  powerful  as  thine.  A  beam  of  thy  fire  kindle  thou 
in  the  eyes  of  King  Dag ;  it  burns  yet  more  beautifuUv  in 
2  D  2 


420 


kis  heart ;  he  is  the  descendant  of  a  divine  race -protect 
him ;  illumine  his  voyage  over  the  great  sea !  Make  hia 
path  light,  his  arm  strong  and  victorious  !  Conduct  him 
home  to  the  court  of  his  fathers,  to  his  faithful  bride  •  and, 
kneeling  by  his  side,  I  will  consecrate  to  thee  a  better 
offering  than  now,  thou  glorious  king  of  day!  (She  ap- 
proaches KuMBA  a7id  Feima.)  Bond-maidens,  it  is  good! 
The  flower-garden  is  well  tended.  The  beauty  of  the  plants 
gladdens  both  eye  and  heart.  Soon,  too,  will  King  Dag  see 
it,  and  reward  your  care.  He  has  commissioned  me  to  give 
you  a  testimony  of  his  favour.  He  will  one  day  give  you 
more  beautiful  ones  himself.  Teima,  take  this  silver  chain. 
Thou  shalt  wear  it  on  thy  wedding-day.  The  same  sun 
which  blesses  my  union  with  King  Dag  shall  witness  thy 
marriage  with  thy  faithful  Hreimer.  He  shall  be  my  master- 
gardener.  The  cottage,  which  I  have  caused  to  be  built  for 
you,  will  soon  be  completed.  I  wish  you  always  to  remain 
with  me  and  the  king.  Thou  shalt  brew  the  mead  for  our 
wedding ;  and  thou  wilt  do  well,  Feima,  to  call  the  good 
Disor  to  thy  aid,  that  it  may  be  clear  and  strong. 

Feima.  (Falh  doivn  and  kisses  Feid's  feet.  Frid  ea^- 
tends  to  her  her  hand.)  Princess  !  thy  favour  is  great !  We 
will  live  and  die  for  thee  !  How  beautiful  is  thy  hand  ;  how 
white,  how  silken.  Only  King  Dag  has  hands  as  beautiful 
as  thine  ! 

Feid.  More  beautiful,  Feima,  because  they  are  stronger. 
Kumba,  thou  art  the  most  favoured  of  my  attendants.  From 
the  years  of  childhood  have  we  been  together.  Thou  shalt 
alw^ays  be  near  me.    Ta]?:e  this  golden  ring. 

KiJMBA.  King's  daughter,  that  is  not  for  me. 

Feti).  I  give  it  thee. 

Kumba.  My  hand  is  brown ;  my  fingers  are  short  and 
bony — what  shall  the  golden  ring  do  there  ?  It  does  not 
become  me.    Eetain  thy  gift.    Thy  favour  is  all  that  I  desire. 

Feid.  O,  very  well !  I  will  keep  my  ring,  but — till  thy 
wedding-day.  I  know  that  Klur  loves  thee.  Thou  wilt  not 
always  be  hard  with  him.  He  shall  put  the  ring  on  thy 
finger.  (Kumba  turns  away.)  If  thou  hast  a  wish,  thou 
shalt  tell  it  me,  that  I  may  gratify  it.  I  desire  that  all  should 
be  happy.  Ah !  see,  see  here  reddens  a  rosebud !  Wel- 
come, thou  little  harbinger  of  the  highest  happiness  !  {Kisses 


TRALIKNAN. 


421 


it)  Kumba!  Feima!  tend  it  well.  Protect  it  from  the 
night  chill ;  moisten  its  root  with  the  clearest  water.  "  "When 
the  rosebuds  redden,  then  shall  I  be  near  thee  !"  wrote  last 
to  me,  King  Dag.  This  rose  is  the  first  which  reddens  this 
year  in  the  flower-garden.  Perhaps  when  this  flower  opens, 
shall  my  life's  happiness  be  in  bloom.  Tend  well  the  delicate 
bud,  bondmaidens  !  Te  shall  not  do  it  in  vain.  Kumba.,  in 
about  an  hour  I  shall  expect  thee  to  attend  me  to  the  bath. 
Kumba.  I  will  be  punctual. 

Feii).  Once  more — take  care  of  my  rosebud.      \_SJie  goes. 

Scene  II. — Kumba.  Peima. 

Feima.  How  good  she  is  ! 
Kumba.  She  is  happy ! 

Feima.  How  beautiful  she  is,  and  proud!  "Well  is  she 
worthy  to  be  beloved  by  a  king  like  King  Dag.  Kumba ! 
What  art  thou  doing  ?  Thou  breakest  off  the  bud  which  she 
bade  us  cherish ! 

Kumba.  She  can  have  so  many  others. 

Feima.  O  Kumba !  that  was  ill  done.  Ought  not  her 
slightest  wish  to  have  been  a  law  to  thee  ?  She,  thy  lady, 
thy  benefactress ! 

Kumba.  I  am  her  slave ! 

Feima.  And  yet  is  she  so  gracious,  so  condescending  to 
thee  !    Fie  !  Kumba  ! 

Kumba.  E/Cproach  me  not.  My  mind  is  embittered.  I 
will  die ! 

Feima.  Die  !    Wherefore  ? 

Kumba.  I  am  a  slave  ! 

Feima.  And  has  one  of  our  race  ever  been  treated  better 
than  thou  ?  Has  not  the  king's  daughter  exempted  thee 
from  laborious  occupations  ?  Hast  thou  not  from  childhood 
been  allowed  to  be  near  her,  and  treated  better  than  all  the 
servants  ?  Does  she  not  give  thee  better  clothes,  better  food  ? 
Dost  thou  not  go  freely  about  in  the  royal  halls  ?  Hast  thou 
not  there  been  instructed  in  much  that  thralls  are  not  wont 
to  know  ? 

Kumba.  Feima !  Why  dost  thou  call  me  fortunate  ?  Call 
me  mifortunate !  Why  was  I  not  left  in  the  humble  cottage, 
with  poverty  and  hardship.^  and  taught  by  custom  to  end  ars 


422 


the  stern  lot  to  which  I  was  born  ?  "Why  did  the  bondmaid 
receive  a  dwelling  in  the  halls  of  kings,  and  learn  to  compare  ? 
Why  did  I  learn  to  love  beauty  and  greatness,  when  my  lot 
was  ugliness  and  insignificance  ?  Why  did  I  receive  instruc- 
tions which  taught  me  only  to  despair  ? 

Feima.  Ah !  it  was  thy  proud  heart  which  taught  thee  to 
feel  thus  !  It  is  thy  haughty  spirit  which  converts  the  sweet- 
ness into  poison  ! 

KrMBA.  Frid  too  is  proud,  and  yet  in  her  that  is  no  fault ! 

Teima.  No!  for  pride  becomes  her;  but  pride  does  not 
become  us.  She  is  of  the  race  of  the  Jarls ;  we  of  that  of  the 
ThraUs. 

KiiMBA.  And  yet,  Teima,  the  Saga  says,  that  the  father  of 
our  race  was  a  god — yes,  the  same  god  who  afterwards  be- 
came the  father  of  the  haughty  race  of  the  gods.  We  are  the 
elder  brethren  and  sisters.  Why  are  we  suffered  to  creep  in 
the  dust,  when  the  younger  brethren  are  exalted  to  Grod's 
heaven  ? 

Feima.  I  do  not  know.  But  this  I  know,  that  it  would 
not  befit  thee  to  wear  Erid's  crown  on  thy  head,  her  golden 
girdle  around  thy  waist,  and  to  walk  so  slowly  and  proudly  as 
she  does     I  feel  that  I  could  not  help  laughing  at  that. 

KuMBA.  Woe  is  me !  I  knoAv  it  too.  In  me  that  were 
ridiculous,  which  in  her  is  beautifuL  I  am  called,  and  I  am, 
Kumba.^  But  it  is  precisely  of  that  that  I  complain.  Why 
am  I  so  ? 

Eeima.  And  I  know  too  that  there  are  much  good  and 
many  joys  for  us  if  we  can  but  bridle  our  minds  and  our 
desires.  Have  we  not  the  sun's  light  and  warmth  ?  Have 
we  not  the  fragrance  of  flowers  as  well  as  the  king's  daughter  ? 
Have  we  not  the  enjoyment  of  the  cottage  which  protects  us  ; 
of  food  which  we  eat  ?  Can  we  not,  under  the  guardianship 
of  good  masters,  possess  husbands  and  children  as  well  as 
the  Jarls  ? 

KuMBA.  Slaves ! 

Eeima.  Hreimer  is  a  slave ;  yes,  and  his  hand  is  sunburnt, 
but  diligent  and  faithful  is  that  hand ;  his  heart  is  good,  and 
his  glance  tells  me  how  dear  he  holds  me.  By  his  side  I 
Btiall  live  happy  and  free  from  care,  for  we  love  one  another, 
and  we  love  our  masters,  and  know  that  they  will  ivot  sepa* 
*  Clumsy. 


423 


rate  us,  or  sell  our  children  away  from  us.    We  desire 
nothing  better  than  always  to  live  in  their  service. 
KuMBA.  Happy  thou ! 

Feima.  The  same  happiness  may  be  thine  if  thou  wilt ; 
Klur  loves  thee. 

KuMEA.  Fie,  fie,  fie  then  !    I  speak  not  of  him. 

Peima.  And  if  thou  wilt  not  have  a  husband  ;  if  thou  wilt 
remain  single,  what  more  pleasant  lot  canst  thou  have  than 
to  serve  the  noble  Frid,  and  live  in  the  royal  halls,  and  see 
around  thee  men  and  women  of  the  race  of  the  Jarls  ?  That, 
indeed,  is  great  and  beautiful. 

KuMBA.  Miserable !  Know,  Feima,  fartlier  towards  the 
north,  towards  the  region  where  giants  and  horrible  dragons 
liave  their  abode,  there  is  found  amid  ice-clad  mountains  a 
people  not  far  removed  from  beasts.  Their  clothes  are  the 
skins  of  wild  beasts ;  their  dwellings,  caves  and  clefts  of  the 
rocks ;  their  speech,  a  bestial  noise.  Well,  then,  amongst 
this  people,  in  their  woods,  I  should  feel  myself  happier  than 
here,  in  the  halls  of  the  king's  daughter ! 

Feima.  Thou  wouldst  prefer  living  amongst  detestable 
monsters  of  the  woods  rather  than  with  the  good  and  beau- 
tiful Frid  ?  Thou  wouldst  rather  freeze  in  their  caves,  and 
hunt  in  their  v  oods,  than  plait  her  golden  hair  and  bathe  in 
a  silver  ewer  her  white  feet  ? 

KuMBA.  Yes,  that  would  I. 

Feima.  Wonderful !    And  why  ? 

KuMBA.  Because  there  I  should  be  free  !  Because  amongst 
them  I  should  be  somewhat. 

Feima.  I  do  not  understand  thee.  But  if  thou  findest 
thyself  so  unhappy  here,  wherefore,  Kumba,  dost  thou  not 
make  thy  prayer  to  Frid  for  thy  freedom  ?  She  loves  thee, 
and  could  certainly  not  refuse  thy  request.  Wherefore  dost 
thou  linger  where  thou  art  in  torment  ? 

Kumba.    Ask  me  not ! 

Feima.  Thou  art  very  strange.  Thou  wilt  and  thou  wilt 
not. 

KiJMBA.  Woe  is  me!  It  is  so.  My  feet  are  rivetted  to 
the  spot  which  bears  me. 

Feima.  Sister  !  poor  sister !    I  compassionate  thee ! 

KuMBA.  Well  may  est  thou.  But  the  powers  who  made 
the  races  of  the  Jarls  and  the  slaves,  who  gave  to  the  one 


424 


TTIALINNAN. 


gold  and  to  the  other  dust — of  these  will  I  demand,  Was  it 
'ust  that  ye  dealt  thus  ? 

Peima.  Kumba,  tempt  not  tae  gods ! 

KuMBA.  They  who  require  of  men  worship  because  they 
conferred  on  them  a  wretched  life — who  demano.  praise  and 
offerings  for  the  clod  of  earth  which  we  cultivate  with  the 
sweat  of  our  brow  for  others — to  them  will  I  say,  In  your 
unjust,  selfish  existence  

Eeima.  Silence !  O  silence !  It  is  horrible  to  hear  thee  ! 
Thy  eyes  flash,  Kumba !    Thou  blasphemest ! 

KuMBA.  But  if  I  do  murmur  and  blaspheme  in  despair 
over  my  lot,  what  then  ?  In  a  little  time  I  shall  grow  dumb 
in  the  world — in  a  little  time  the  blaspheming  spirit  will  dis- 
appear like  a  vapour  in  space,  and  be  as  it  had  never  been. 
But  it  has  not  disturbed  the  rejoicing  songs  of  Valhalla  ; 
aloft  there  is  not  heard  its  pain  and  complaint.  And  when 
the  achievements  of  the  mighty  shall  live  immortally  in  the 
songs  of  the  Scalds  on  the  earth — when  their  glory  shall  be 
admired  by  succeeding  generations — who  shall  know  any- 
thing of  the  life  of  slaves,  of  their  virtues,  their  sufferings  ? 
Dumb,  beneath  the  burden  of  their  labours,  they  have  sunk 
into  the  earth,  and  are  forgotten.  Where  is  found  justice  fOr 
them,  in  heaven  or  upon  earth  ?    We  are  born  to  no  end. 

Teima.  JSTay,  that  I  cannot  believe.  Say  not  our  holy 
Sagas,  that  for  us,  too,  shall  be  found  room  after  death,  there, 
where  every  one  shall  receive  his  reward  for  what  he  has  done 
on  the  earth,  whether  it  be  good  or  evil  ? 

KrMBA.  Seest  thou  the  pale  grey  cloud  in  the  distance, 
which  sails  over  the  wild  heath  ?  Seest  thou,  far  off  in  the 
marshes,  the  vapours  tossed  about  by  the  wind  ?  There 
beholdest  thou  the  life  of  a  slave  after  death.  Seest  thou  the 
sun,  how  he  warms  the  world  from  the  inward  glow  of  his  own 
happiness ;  the  stars  by  night,  beaming  down  tranquilly,  as 
kings  from  their  thrones,  as  happy  spirits  in  the  courts  of 
the  gods — there  hast  thou  the  immortality  of  the  noble-born 
of  the  hero-race.  Dark  is  our  life  on  the  earth,  dark  on  the 
other  side  of  the  grave !  It  is  not  good  to  go  poor  to  Odin — 
the  poor  find  in  his  halls  no  room.  Alone  for  a  nobly-born 
hero,  alone  for  a  king  who  carried  far  and  wide  the  blood- 
dripping  sword,  resounds  the  road  to  Valhalla;  for  him  only 
are  adorned  its  couches,  for  him  its  cup  is  burnished,  and  the 


TEALIKNAlSf. 


425 


Valkyrior  bring  wine.  The  joys  of  heaven  are  made  only  for 
tlie  great,  the  happy  on  earth. 

Feima.  But  it  is  said  likewise,  that  the  servant  who  comes 
in  the  train  of  a  great  lord  can  slip  into  the  glorious  Asgard ; 
therefore,  often  do  the  servants  of  kings  kill  themselves  on 
their  master's  corpse. 

KuMBA.  Fools  !  Yes,  to  become  slaves  to  them  after 
death  as  they  have  been  here.  "  Wretches"  are  the  slaves 
termed  by  the  Scalds  ;  and  justly,  for  wretched  is  their  lot 
even  there,  beyond  Hela's  nocturnal  halls.  Thraldom  and 
fatigue  await  them  there  as  here.  And  for  those  of  us  who  do 
not  accompany  some  mighty  lord  in  death,  there  shall  be  no 
resurrection — we  have  here  lived  in  vain. 

Feima.  Ah  !  my  heart  tells  me  different.  It  says  that 
the  gods  will  never  forsake  the  being  whom  they  have 
created. 

EuMBA.  Seest  thou  the  worm  in  the  sand  which  is  tortured 
and  dragged  along  by  ants  ?  See  how  it  writhes,  how  it  is 
agonized  !  Let  it  be  !  If  thou  rescuest  it,  a  thousand  others 
will  still  be  tortured.  In  vain  dost  thou  writhe,  worm.  Thy 
tormentors  drag  thee  to  the  hillock,  to  the  unhonoured 
funeral-pile,  from  which  no  glorifying  flame  ascends,  and 
where  thou  shalt  speedily  become  nothing.  Is  not  the  worm 
created  by  the  gods  as  well  as  we  ?  They  regard  not  the 
worm  ;  they  look  not  down  on  us.    Our  fates  are  alike. 

Feima.  Xo,  no  !  I  would  not  believe  that,  if  thou  said  it 
a  thousand  times.  They  who  have  served  in  truth  shall 
certainly  hereafter  dwell  in  peace  and  joy.  Eut,  were  it 
indeed  not  so,  were  it  otherwise  

Kumba.  What  then  ? 

Feima.  From  the  dust  was  I  taken.  The  goodness  of  God 
gave  me  life.  I  have  seen  the  beauty  of  the  sun;  I  have 
enjoyed  the  fruits  of  the  earth,  the  freshness  of  the  water,  the 
cool  shade  of  the  trees — I  have  loved.  If  the  gods  shall  one 
day  reduce  to  nothing  the  dust  which  they  have  raised  up,  I 
will  then  praise  them  for  the  life  which  I  have  enjoyed  ;  and 
will  deliver  again  into  their  hands  what  from  their  hands  I 
have  received,  if  not  without  regret,  at  least  without  com- 
plaining. 

Kumba.  Shall  I  admire,  or  shall  I  despise  fchee  ? 

Feima.  AVe  are  small ;  let  us  in  humility  acknowledge  it* 


426 


HumiLty  is  the  soul's  repose.  0  Kumba,  Kumba!  Leavo 
thy  proud  thoughts — humble  thyself.  See,  it  is  only  by  stoop- 
ing that  thou  canst  gather  this  beautiful  flower.  Quit  the 
regal  palace  if  thou  art  not  happy  there,  but  go  not  amongst 
the  wild,  people.  Come  to  us,  sister  ;  come  and  remain  with 
us.  Hreimer  and  I  will  love  thee,  cherish  thee,  perform  the 
heaviest  tasks  for  thee.  Choose  a  husband,  possess  a  cottage, 
and  press  a  child  to  thy  bosom.  My  mother  has  told  me, 
that  when  she  gave  me  birth  the  world  became  light  to 
her,  and  that  she  would  not  have  exchanged  me  for  a  king- 
dom. The  animals,  w^iich  are  so  much  beneath  us,  how  they 
love,  how  they  rejoice  themselves  in  their  young !  Become  a 
wife  and  mother,  Kumba !  become  good  and  happy. 

Kumba.  The  cradle  and  the  bier  are  the  seats  of  the 
Nornor,  and  no  one  can  escape  his  fate.  I  will  not  give  birth 
to  a  being  doomed  to  unhappiness. 

Feima.  Hreimer  and  I  are  happy,  and  yet  we  are  the 
children  of  slaves. 

KiJMBA.  My  mother  was  amongst  the  slaves  of  Queen 
Gunnild — she  was  the  most  faithful  of  her  servants.  Poor 
and  heavy  was  her  lot,  yet  did  she  wish  to  live.  My  father 
was  a  free-born  person,  who  thought  little  of  forsaking  the 
woman  who  loved  him,  and  the  child  she  had  born  to  him.  I 
remember  a  night — that  night  has  stretched  itself  over  my 
whole  life.  Flames  arose  from  a  pile — they  ascended  high 
into  heaven.  It  was  the  corpse  of  the  queen  which  was 
burned.  My  mother  was  amongst  those  who  tended  the  pile ; 
she,  with  many  others,  were  cast  alive  into  the  flames  !  The 
queen,  it  was  said,  needed  her  attendants  in  the  other  world. 
I  stood  amongst  the  people,  still  a  child,  and  heard  my 
mother's  cry,  and  saw  her  burn.  Fatherless  and  motherless, 
I  went  thence  into  the  world  alone,  and  wandered  in  the 
woods  without  knowing  whither.  There  came  people,  who 
seized  me,  and  carried  me  back  to  the  court  of  King  Atle. 
They  said  that  I  wished  to  run  away,  and  I  was  conducted  to 
the  presence  of  the  king.  I  answered  haughtily  to  his 
questions,  and  he  caused  me  to  be  whipped  till  the  blood 
came,  in  punishment,  as  he  said,  of  my  disobedience.  Thou, 
Feima,  then  lay  on  thy  mother's  bosom — thou  didst  not 
understand  what  I  felt. 

Feima.  But  Frid,  King  Atle's  beautiful  niece,  understooa 


427 


it.  She  begged  thee  from  the  king,  and  cherished  thee  like 
a  mother,  although  she  was  scarcely  older  than  thyself.  She 
endeavoured  to  recompense  thee  for  all  that  thou  hadst 
Buffered. 

KrMBA.  Then  did  I  sit  in  the  nights,  and  gazed  on  the 
wandering  stars,  on  the  flying  clouds.  I  asked  them  of  my 
mother's  fate ;  I  called  her  name,  and  listened.  The  night 
wind  flew  complaining  oyer  the  heath,  and  the  fog  bedewed 
me  with  tears.    See,  there,  the  only  answer  that  I  received. 

Feima.  O  canst  thou  not  forget  the  horrors  of  thy  childish 
years  in  all  the  kindness  which  has  been  showered  on  thy 
youth  ?  And  what  dost  tliou  know  ?  Perhaps  thy  mother's 
soul  lies  happily  in  the  sunshine  which  now  closes  thee  in  its 
warm  embrace.  O  that  it  would  become  light  in  thy  soul, 
and  that  thou  couldst  see  life  and  thy  own  destiny  in  a 
clearer  vision !  It  is  long  since  thou  hast  offered  to  the  gods. 
Come,  sister,  come  !  Let  us  go  to  the  holy  fountain  of  offer- 
ing on  the  mountain.  Dost  thou  see  this  silver-penny  ?  I 
received  it  once  from  King  Dag.  I  will  now  offer  this  for 
thee.  Carry  thou  also  thither  an  offering  of  something  dear 
to  thee,  that  we  may  win  the  favour  of  the  Powers,  and  that 
they  may  hear  our  prayers. 

KuMEA.  And  what  wouldst  thou  that  I  should  solicit  ? 

Feima.  A  pious,  a  contented  mind. 

KrMBA.  Am  I  then  so  wicked,  Feima? 

Feima.  Sister,  pardon  me  the  hard  word ; — thou  art  not 
good. 

KrMSA.  Thou  speakest  the  truth.  But,  Feima,  I  have 
wished  to  be  good.  O  !  had  the  gods  heard  my  sighs,  Feima, 
I  should  now  have  been  pious ;  like  Frid,  I  would  wish  to 
make  all  happy.  Seize,  torment  a  bee,  and  it  will  sting,  and 
leave  poison  in  the  sting ;  but  leave  it  in  its  freedom,  let  it 
possess  its  wings  and  its  flowers,  and  it  will  suck  and  confer 
only  delicious  sweetness. 

Feima.  And  what  wouldst  thou  desire  of  the  gods  ? 

KuMSA.  Beauty,  high  birth,  wealth,  and — a  king's  love ; 
room  m  the  halls  of  Odin  after  death,  for  me  and  all  my  race. 

Feima.  Kumba,  thou  art  mad.  Thy  glance  is  wild.  Poor 
sister !  Thy  mind  is  diseased.  Come,  O  come  with  me  to 
cool  thy  brow  with  the  holy  water,  and  offer  and  pray  with 
me  in  the  still  momin^:,  while  the  tumult  of  the  world  is 


428 


hushed,  and  when  Heimdal's  ever-listening  ears  can  00 
reached  even  by  the  lowest  prayers.    Come  ! 

KuMBA.  I  will  not,  sister.  At  the  prayers  which  now 
arise  within  me,  thou  wouldst  be  horrified,  and  the  gods 
would  reject  me.  Thou  art  right*  My  soul  is  sick.  There- 
fore go,  leave  me  alone.    Gro  ! 

Feima.  And  what  shall  I  say  to  the  king's  daughter,  when 
she  inquires  after  her  rosebud  ? 

KuMBA.  Tell  her  that  a  bitter  north  wind  broke  it  off. 

Feima.  Then  thou  wilt  not  accompany  me  ? 

KuMBA.  No,  I  say  ;  no !    Leave  me  alone. 

Feima  (aside,  as  she  goes  away) .  I  will  then  go  alone,  and 
pray  for  her.  Yet — Hreimer,  will  gladly  accompany  me  to 
ojQfer  with  me  for  the  unhappy  sister.  \_S}ie  goes. 

Scene  III. 

KiiMBA  (alone),  Tes,  go  !  Offer,  pray  to  the  mercenary, 
the  unjust  gods.  I  am  not  childish  enough  to  do  that.  But 
she  is  good  and  pious.  Were  I  but  pious  as  she !  Can  I 
not  be  so  ?  No  !  for  I  know  more  than  she  ;  my  eyes  have 
pierced  deeper  into  the  dark  disposal  of  events  ;  and  a  poison 
corrodes  me,  which  she  does  not  know.  "  Why  dost  thou 
not  fly  ?"  she  demanded.  "  Wherefore  dost  thou  not  solicit 
thy  freedom?"  Unhappy  power,  which  binds  my  will  and 
my  soul !  Abhorred,  beloved  torment,  which  causes  me  to 
court  what  I  never  can  win,  and  to  seek  what  I  ought  to  fly 
from,  thou  wilt  tyrannise  over  me  in  life  and  in  death.  Ah ! 
why  saw  I  the  glorious  object  that  I  am  not  to  possess  ?  Why 
should  I  behold  a  day  which  will  never  shine  for  me  ?  Why, 
stern  and  terrible  fate,  didst  thou  allure  me  up  into  the  ligbt, 
only  to  plunge  me  deeper  into  my  darkness  ?  The  mischief 
is  now  done  ;  my  eyes  are  dazzled,  my  glance  is  fascinated, 
my  heart  is  doomed,  my  life  is  given  over  to  misery.  Here 
is  my  torment,  and  here  must  I  remain ;  so  will  the  inexor- 
able Powers.  I  must,  because  I  must  hear  his  name  pro- 
nounced. Not  to  hear  him  mentioned,  is  not  to  get  air  to 
breathe.  I  must  see  him  again,  once  more  hear  his  voice, 
and  live  in  the  lustre  of  his  eyes.  O  King  Dag !  wilt  thov 
notice  the  bondmaiden?  Wilt  thou  give  one  look,  one 
thought,  to  her  who  would  gladly  die  for  thee  ?    Thou  wilt 


429 


clap  ihj  proud  steed  with  thy  strong  victorious  hand ;  but  it 
would  be  defiled  by  the  touch  of  the  hand  of  Kumba.  !For 
Frid — for  the  king's  daughter — is  thy  hand ;  for  her,  thy 
embraces,  thy  kisses,  thy  great,  proud  hero-heart.  And  her 
do  I  tend  and  adorn  every  day,  that  she  may  become  more 
beautiful  for  thee,  and  all  the  happier  in  thy  love.  Every 
day  shall  I  see  her  beauty  and  happiness,  and  feel  myself 
devoured  by  envy.  O  depth  of  anguish  !  O  bottomless  pit ! 
In  thee  am  I  doomed  to  live  and  move  for  ever ! 

\_SJie  pauses. 

In  the  cold,  foggy  Nifelhem  is  the  fountain  Hvergelmer. 
Streams  of  poison  rush  from  it ;  and  in  its  depth,  amid  count- 
less snakes,  lies  the  great  snake  Nidhogg,  which  gnaws  at  the 
root  of  the  tree  of  the  world — gnaws,  gnaws  till  it  decays. 
When  I  was  very  young,  the  Saga  easily  made  me  shudder. 
I  am  now  quite  at  home  in  it.  I  seem  sometimes  indeed  to 
be  myself  the  fountain,  that  mist  is  my  w^orld,  and  that  the 
worm  gnaws  at  the  tree  of  my  life.  \_Again  silent. 

Sometimes  dark  thoughts  rise  up  within  me.  It  is  said 
that  elves  of  darkness,  which  live  on  the  northern  edge  of  the 
earth,  beneath  the  deepest  roots  of  the  Tree  of  the  "World, 
sometimes  ascend  thence,  and  speak  words  with  the  children 
of  men,  which  fright  the  light  of  day.  Hell  sends  them  forth 
to  execute  its  commissions  and  aifairs.  It  seems  to  me  as  if 
at  times  the  voice  of  evil  spirits  spoke  within  me  and  ex- 
horted me  to    ...    .  \_Anotlier  silence. 

If  I  could  but  die,  and  find  rest !  Could  my  life,  after 
death,  but  become  pleasant ;  might  once  the  freed  spirit  but 
look  down  from  heaven  upon  the  earth,  where  it  had  suffered 
and  been  tormented  ....  Did  I  but  know  that  a 
merciful  Grod  had  prepared  for  his  tired  and  weary  child  a 
peaceful  and  bright  abode,  where  it  might  repose  after  its 
hard  conflict,  O  then  could  I  still  submit  myself!  could  then 
renounce,  then    ....  [Weeps. 

But,  O  ye  gods  !  ye  have  forgotten  us,  and  therefore  is  my 
spirit  exasperated.  To  your  favourites  you  have  given  all,  to 
us  nothing.  Nothing  ?  Yes,  bitterness  !  poison  !  Eut  with 
the  poison  there  is  strength.  Ye  Gods!  if  from  the  drops 
which  from  hour  to  hour  you  cause  to  drop  into  my  bosom, 
there  swells  a  stream  which  burns  and  destroys,  the  guilt  fall 
— on  you ! 


430 


Scene  IV. — Frid's  Bedchamber, 

FUID.  KlJMBA. 

EiiiD.  Kumba!  Plait  my  hair,  and  anoint  it  with  the  oil 

of  the  south,  which  I  received  from  King  Dag. 

Ktjmba.  "What  thou  commandest  I  will  do. 

Frid.  And  while  thou  plaitest  it,  relate  to  me  some  of  the 
Sagas  which  thou  knowest  so  well.  It  is  justly  said  that  the 
dwelling  of  the  Sagas  is  surrounded  by  the  murmurs  of  cool 
billows,  to  whose  rushing  Odin  gladly  listens.  Enlivening 
and  soothing  at  the  same  time  are  Sagas  and  song, — a  worthy 
pastime  for  the  race  of  the  gods. 

Kumba.  Wilt  thou,  king's  daughter,  hear  the  ancient 
Sagas  of  Eig  ?  * 

Erid.  Grladly. 

Kumba.  Heimdal-— so  it  is  said ;  the  trusty  and  wise  god, 
went  once  on  a  time  to  walk  in  the  country,  and  came  on  the 
sea-shore  to  a  house  which  he  entered.  The  door  stood  wide 
open  ;  a  fire  burnt  on  the  hearth,  and  within  sate  the  inha- 
bitants, grown  grey  with  labour,  Ae  and  Edda,  in  old-world 
garments.  Edda  took  out  of  the  ashes  the  heavy,  thick, 
seed-mingled  cake,  brouglit  forth  tlie  soup  in  a  bowl ;  but  the 
greatest  delicacy  was  the  sodden  calf.  Heimdal,  who  called 
himself  Rig,  continued  three  nights  there,  and  nine  months 
after  his  departure,  Edda  gave  birth  to  a  son,  which  was  bap- 
tized and  named  Tral  (Slave).  He  grew  and  flourished,  was 
of  a  dark  complexion,  had  wrinkled  skin  on  his  hands,  con- 
tracted knuckles,  thick  fingers,  an  ugly  countenance,  a  hump- 
back, and  long  heels.  A  beggar-girl  came  to  the  house  ;  her 
feet  sore,  her  arms  sunburnt,  her  nose  hooked.  She  was 
called  Tralinna  (bondwoman,  or  female  slave).  She  lived 
there  with  Triil  the  heavy  days,  and  bore  him  sons  and 
daughters.  Their  employment  was  to  twine  boat  ropes,  to 
drag  loads,  to  carry  firewood,  to  keep  and  fatten  cattle,  herd 
swine,  watch  the  goats,  dig  turf.  Erom  her  came  the  race  of 
slaves. 

E/ig  went  farther,  and  found  in  another  house  another  pair. 
The  door  stood  a-jar ;  fire  burned  on  the  hearth.  The  hus- 
band was  shaping  a  tree  into  a  weaver's  beam  ;  his  beard  was 


Introduced  into  the  older  Edda.    See  Geijer's  "  Svea  Rkes  Hafder 


TRALINKAN. 


431 


trimmed,  his'  hair  cut  on  the  forehead  ;  he  had  a  close  shirfc, 
which  was  fastened  by  a  clasp  at  the  neck.  The  wife 
twirled  the  spinning-wheel,  spun  thread,  and  converted  it 
into  clothing.  She  had  a  fillet  on  her  head,  a  brooch  on  her 
bosom,  a  cloth  round  her  neck,  and  ribbon  on  the  shoulders. 
The  couple  were  called  Afe  and  Amraa.  Kig  was  hospitably 
entertained,  and  stayed  with  them  three  nights.  Nine  months 
afterwards,  Amma  gave  birth  to  a  son,  rosy  and  blooming, 
with  sparkling  eyes.  He  was  baptized  and  called  Karl. 
He  grew  and  throve,  learned  to  tame  oxen,  to  cultivate  land, 
to  build  houses,  forged  horsenails,  made  carts,  drove  the 
plough.  To  him  was  conducted  home  as  a  bride,  Snor,  hung 
round  with  keys,  in  kirtle  of  goat's  hair.  They  exchanged 
rings,spread  the  sheet,  built  a  house.  Theyhad  sons  anddaugh- 
tors,  and  of  them  are  come  the  race  of  Karls,  or  free  men. 

E-ig  went  farther.  He  came  to  a  hall.  The  door  was 
closed,  and  adorned  with  a  ring.  He  entered.  The  floor  was 
strown.  There  sate  the  couple,  looking  each  other  in  the 
eyes — Fader  and  Moder.  Their  work  was  play.  The  hus- 
band shaped  bows,  twisted  strings,  polished  arrows.  The 
wife  ironed  and  starched  her  sleeves,  and  made  up  a  head- 
dress. She  had  a  jewel  on  her  breast,  a  silken  kirtle,  blue 
figured  linen,  a  countenance  more  beautiful,  a  bosom  more 
charming,  a  neck  more  white  than  the  recent  snow.  Moder 
spread  the  figured  white  cloth  on  the  table,  set  on  it  the  thin 
white  wheaten  cakes,  and  dishes  of  embossed  silver,  full  of  all 
kinds  of  meat,  pork,  and  roasted  birds.  There  was  wine  in 
flagons  and  embossed  cups ;  they  drank  and  talked  till  the 
day  dawned.  Eig  remained  three  nights  there  also,  and  after 
nine  months,  Moder  brought  forth  a  son,  who  was  wrapped 
in  silk,  was  baptized,  and  called  Jarl.  His  hair  was  flaxen, 
his  cheeks  bright,  his  eyes  keen  as  those  of  a  young  eagle. 
He  grew  up,  twisted  bow-strings,  shaped  bows,  flung  the 
spear,  shot  arrows,  shook  lances,  rode  horses,  hunted  with 
hounds,  drew  the  sword,  and  exercised  himself  in  swiinming. 
Then  came  Eig  again  to  the  court,  taught  him  Eunes,  gave 
him  Jiis  name,  and  acknowledged  him  as  his  son.  The  young 
Eig  therefore  marched  over  the  rocks  in  war,  won  victori.^s 
and  lands,  distributed  goods  and  estates,  and  married  the 
daughter  of  Herve,  the  slender,  fair,  noble  Erna.  Of  theif 
sons,  the  youno:est  was  Konr.    He  contended  with  his  father 


432 


Rig  in  the  knowledge  of  Eiines,  and  Won.  Then  was  it  the 
son's  lot  to  be  himself  called  Eig,  and  thenceforth  to  under- 
stand Eunes  beyond  all  others.  From  him  are  descended  the 
Jarls  and  kings. 

Here  ends  the  Saga  about  Eig. 

Teid.  Thanks,  Kumba  !  The  Saga  is  beautiful  and  full  of 
meaning. 

(aside).  Beautiful!    Yes,  for  her. 

Frid.  Bat  my  attention  was  distracted  while  I  listened  to 
it.  A  great,  a  precious,  and  almost  terrible  recollection  came 
vividly  on  my  soul.  To-day,  three  years  ago,  I  saw,  for  the 
first  time.  King  Dag. 

Kumba.  Ah  !  speak  of  that !  (aside.)  The  poison  is  sweet ! 

Erii).  Thou  knowest  that  my  father's  brother,  the  gloomy 
Atle,  had  in  an  engagement  killed  King  Dag's  father,  the 
victorious  King  Ifvar.  King  Dag,  and  his  brother  Eagnar, 
revenged  their  father's  death,  and  stormed  my  uncle's  castle. 
Shut  up  in  the  inner  room  of  the  castle  with  my  tender 
brother  Arild,  I  heard  the  din  of  arms,  and  the  battle-cries 
of  the  warriors.  Arild  clenched  his  little  hands  in  wrath. 
I  prayed  to  the  gods  for  his  life,  for  I  held  him  as  dear  as  a 
mother.  Suddenly  I  heard  a  cry,  accompanied  by  a  wild  jubi- 
lation of  victory.  "  Atle  is  fallen !  The  brave  Eagnar  has 
slain  him  !"  But  immediately  thereon — "  Eagnar  is  wounded  ! 
Eagnar  is  dead!  Eevenge!  revenge!"  Amid  a  horrid  din, 
steps  drew  near  the  room.  Before  the  strokes  of  war-axes 
the  door  went  to  pieces.  At  this  moment  I  felt  not  fear,  but 
wrath  and  a  proud  desperation.  I  had  seized  spear  and 
shield,  and  stood  there  resolved  to  die,  rather  than  to  surrender 
rryself  a  prisoner  ;  and  till  my  last  breath  to  defend  the  little 
f/ne-  "  i^ack !"  thundered  a  lordly  voice  to  the  on-pressing 
martial  throng;  and  environed  by  the  flashings  of  bloody 
swords,  as  by  a  thousand  jagged  lightnings,  I  beheld  before 
me  a  man — a  god  he  seemed  to  me  to  be. 

Kumba.  It  was  he ! 

Erid.  Yes,  it  was  he  !  It  was  King  Dag  !  "  Yield  thy- 
self!" exclaimed  he  to  me.  In  answer  I  sought  his  breast 
with  my  spear.  My  trembling  hand  was  arrested  by  his 
sword,  and  fie  disarmed  me.  lileeding,  I  sunk  by  my  bro- 
ther's side,  exclaiming,  "Mercy  for  him!  Mercy  for  the 
child!"    "Death  to  the  traitor's  son!"  cried  wildly  the 


TRALINNAN. 


433 


warriors,  and  rushed  on.  King  Dag  turned  himself  to  his 
people,  and  covered  us  with  his  shield.  "  Back  !"  exclaimed 
he  once  more  commandingly  to  the  wild  troop.  "  With 
women  and  cinldren  we  contend  not.  The 'victory  is  won. 
Down  with  your  weapons  !"  But  a  frantic  lust  of  murder 
had  taken  possession  of  Ragnar's  people,  and  they  cried — 
"Blood  for  blood!"  Then  shouldst  thou  have  seen  King 
Dag !  Glorious  and  strong  as  the  god  Thor,  he  lifted  his 
broadsword  in  defence  of  the  helpless.  Like  lightning  flew 
its  strokes  whistling  through  the  air,  and  fell  on  the  blood- 
thirsty warriors.  Heaps  of  dead  were  round  his  feet. 
KiJMBA.  The  brave !  the  glorious ! 

Frii).  Seized  with  amaze  at  his  superhuman  strength, 
Eagnar's  people  began  to  give  way.  Then  cried  King  Dag 
— "Hither,  my  men!  Every  true  friend  follow  me !"  He 
lifted  up  Arild,  and  placed  him  in  the  arms  of  one  of  his 
warriors  ;  he  took  myself  in  his  own,  and  guarding  me  with 
shield  and  sword,  he  broke  through  the  tumult  of  war.  I 
saw  nothing  more.  A  swoon  overpowered  my  senses  ;  my 
eyes  were  closed. 

KuMBA.  But  he  watched  over  thee  ? 

Eeid.  When  I  opened  them  again,  it  was  night ;  but  a 
night  lighted  up  by  a  red  and  wild  splendour.  I  saw  from 
the  distant  strand  a  castle  stand  all  in  flames  ;  but  cool  winds 
fanned  my  cheek,  and  farther  and  fartlier  over  the  dancing 
waves,  conveyed  me  the  winged  sea-dragon,  and  my  little 
brother  stood  beside  me  under  the  purple  pavilion,  and 
clapped  his  hands  in  childish  joy  over  the  novel  spectacle. 
Before  me,  on  his  knee,  his  godlike  beautiful  countenance 
illumined  by  the  flames  of  the  burning,  and  with  uncovered 
head,  lay  King  Dag,  and  I  was  his  captive ! 

Is^UMB A  (aside).  Happy  lot ! 

Erid.  Ah,  yes  !  His  captive.  For  my  heart  had  he  con- 
quered,— the  brave,  the  noble  one  ;  and  I  could  not  then,  as 
I  wished,  in  proud  anger  turn  from  the  victor  my  glance. 
By  his  strength  he  had  disarmed  my  hand,  by  his  love  he  now 
sought  to  win  ray  love ;  and  when  he  prayed  me  as  beau- 
tifully, as  mildly  as  Balder,  when  he  beo^ged  me,  as  a  favour, 
to  accept  his  kingdom  and  his  crown,  then  I  let  him  see  what 
my  heart  felt,  and  he  pressed  me  to  his  heart,  and  called  lue 
his  bride. 

2  E 


434 


KuMBA.  Thou  liappy  one ! 

Frid.  Yes,  I  was  happy.  Days  and  nights  went  on,  and 
life  was  to  me  like  a  beam  of  the  light  of  God's  heaven — all 
around  me  was  so  beautiful.  The  sea-dragon  flew  over  the 
blue  sea,  under  the  dark-blue  heaven,  and  the  waves  danced 
merrily  around  the  prow,  covered  with  golden  shields,  and 
the  wind  sung  in  the  purple  silken  sails,  splendidly  embroi- 
dered with  rich  silver  vine-branches.  By  day.  King  Dag 
exercised  his  men  in  martial  manoeuvres,  and  fired  them  to 
an  almost  frenzied,  yet  joyous  daring,  while  I  watched  them 
from  the  royal  pavilion.  When  the  evening  came,  and  sea 
and  winds  were  lulled,  then  took  King  Dag  his  harp,  and 
played  and  sung  by  my  side,  which  made  my  heart  beat  with 
transport.  Then  burned  the  stars  clearer,  and  the  spirits  of 
the  sea  arose  in  enchantment  to  the  surface  of  the  water ; 
then  seemed  the  sea  to  burn  with  a  strange  light,  and  we 
floated  onward  as  on  waves  of  fire.  All  things  did  homage 
to  the  glorious  one,  and  he  did  homage  to  me ;  yes,  happy 
was  I,  happy,  amid  the  dangers  of  war !  My  father's  castle 
was  plundered  and  burnt.  Enemies'  hosts  invaded  King 
Dag's  realm.  We  possessed  no  home.  Then  the  son  of 
Valhalla  conducted  me  to  the  temple  of  Upsala,  and  gave  me 
there  an  asylum,  while  he  advanced  against  his  enemies.  He 
returned,  and  brought  me  to  this  strong  castle  ;  but  was 
liimself  again  soon  obliged  to  leave  me,  in  consequence  of  a 
vow  which  forbade  him  to  celebrate  a  joyous  feast  before  he 
had  freed  his  unfortunate  sister  Grudrun  out  of  her  ignomi- 
nious captivity.  Here  should  I  remain,  guarded  by  his 
trusty  men,  till  he  should  return  from  the  Saxon  coast. 

KiJMBA.  x^nd  if  he  do  not  return  ?  If  he  perisli  in  strife 
on  the  distant  strand  ?  

FiiiD.  No,  no  !  I  fear  nothing.  A  far-presci<'iit  Vala,  a 
renowned  prophetess,  who  visited  the  temple  of  Upsala,  has 
told  me  his  fate.  His  course  will  be  long  and  victorious. 
From  this  campaign  he  will  return  happily,  and  rich  in  ho- 
nours and  treasures. 

KuMBA.  Thou  hast  seen  the  temple  of  Upsala,  the  magni- 
ficent court  of  the  gods  !  Thou  hast  lived  amongst  Diar  and 
Disor.    Were  they  beautiful  and  happy  ? 

Frit).  Yes,  yes,  beautiful  and  blessed.  A  noble  tranquil- 
iitv,  an  infinite  dignity  repose  on  their  features,  and  breathe 


TRALINNAIS'. 


435 


througli  their  whole  being.  The  cares  and  the  joys  of  earth 
touch  them  not ;  they  stand  high  above  them,  gazing  into 
the  clearness  of  the  heaven  of  the  gods.  The  countenance 
of  the  chief  priest  is  majestic  as  we  conceive  of  that  of  Odin, 
full  of  power  and  mildness.  All  disquiet  dies  in  him  who 
contemplates  it :  the  before  stormy  heart  hushes  itself  invo- 
luntarily at  his  glance,  and  is  at  peace. 

KuMBA  (aside) .  Peace,  ah  I  And  I  ?  {aloud.)  And  the 
temple  and  its  happy  abodes  are  really  splendid  ? 

Prid.  Beyond  all  description.  Of  gold  and  precious  stones 
are  the  walls  ;  a  radiance  glows  thence,  w  hich  illuminates  the 
country  far  around.  The  gorgeous  splendour  of  the  interior 
of  the  temple  testifies  to  the  power  of  the  divinity ;  while  the 
silence  in  the  sacred  groves,  in  the  lofty  halls,  interrupted 
only  by  the  solemn  songs  of  the  Diars,  speaks  of  its  sublmiity, 
and  draws  the  spirit  to  contemplation.  Had  I  not  so  deeply 
loved  King  Dag,  I  should  have  dedicated  myself  to  the  ser- 
rice  of  the  gods,  and  continued  there  amongst  the  sacred 
Assynior. 

KuMBA  {aside).  She  chooses  between  the  throne  and  the 
temple.    But  I  ?  

Peid.  When  I  recal  those  days,  a  wonderfully  delightful 
and  solemn  feeling  seizes  me.  Ah  !  it  was  beautiful  in  the 
courts  of  the  temple,  in  its  lofty  halls  1  Pondering  on  the 
counsel  of  the  gods,  silently  walked  the  deep-thinking 
Diars  

KuMBA.  And  didst  thou  learn  their  secret  wisdom — the 
verses  which  teach  how  to  quiet  waves,  quench  fire,  and  dis- 
sipate care  ?  Didst  thou  get  to  know  about  the  beginning 
and  the  end  of  all  things  ? 

Prid.  No  !  I  w^as  too  young,  and  too  much  engrossed  by 
the  outward  splendour  of  life,  and  by  my  love.  My  voice, 
indeed,  blended  with  the  songs  of  the  Assynior,  and  I  took 
part  in  their  nocturnal  dances,  in  their  ceremonies  ;  but  their 
meaning  I  understood  not.  They  regarded  me — and  justly 
— as  not  worthy  to  comprehend  them. 

KuMBA.  And  what,  indeed,  is  all  the  wisdom  of  the  priests 
m  comparison  with  the  love  of  such  a  king  as  King  Dag  ? 

Prid.  Thou  sayst  truly,  Kumba.  But  had  I  never  seen 
him,  then  could  I  have  preferred,  beyond  any  earthly  throne, 
to  live  as  a  priestess  in  the  holy  temple,  Asgard,  as  it  is  also 
2  E  2 


486 


called,  is  an  image  of  the  celestial  Asgard,  the  eternally  green 
Grudhem ;  and  beautiful  is  it,  amid  offerings  and  son2;s  of 
praise,  to  walk  before  the  gods  on  earth,  and  up  to  their  ever- 
iasting  abodes  above  us. 

KuMBA.  That  I  can  believe.  Are  there  always  offerings  in 
the  temple  ? 

Feid.  Yes,  often;  but  there  are  in  particular  three  great 
annual  festivals,  which  were  instituted  by  Odin.  Eecently 
has  been  celebrated  the  Sacrifice  of  Victory,  that  takes  place 
in  spring,  when  the  open  waters  invite  to  Viking-voyages. 

Ktjmba.  And  do  they  indeed  sacrifice  men  ? 

Feid.  Yes.    Most  commonly  slaves  and  malefactors. 

Ktjmba.  Slaves  and  malefactors  ? 

Feid.  Yes  ;  but  sometimes  also  the  noblest  life.  The 
victim  is  led  forth  festively  adorned  ;  the  seats  of  the  gods  are 
tinged  with  blood;  it  is  also  sprinkled  on  the  assembled 
people.  The  smoke  which  ascends  from  the  flame  of  sacrifice 
is  delicious,  and  fills  the  halls  with  a  delicious  aroma.  Sweetly 
sound  in  accordance  the  songs  of  the  priests. 

KuMBA.  But  the  victims,  the  victims !  do  they  complain 
not  ?  do  not  their  shrieks  of  misery  ascend  above  the  songs 
of  the  priests  ? 

Feid.  Their  wailings  are  prevented ;  or  are  drowned  in 
the  songs  of  praise. 

Ktjmba.  They  are  drowned  by  the  songs  of  praise  ? 

Teid.  Yes,  and  no  dissonance  disturbs  the  majesty  and 
beauty  of  the  lofty  solemnity. — But  what  is  this,  Kumba  ? 
I  hear  the  tramp  of  steeds,  the  pealing  of  horns  ;  the  draw- 
bridge is  raised!  There  must  be  tidings — important  ones! 
Good  Kumba,  go,  fly,  and  bring  me  word  what  it  is. 

[Kumba  ^oes. 

Scene  V. 

Feid  (alone).  It  is  certainly  a  messenger  from  King  Dag! 
My  heart  assures  me  of  it ; — how  it  beats !  Still,  tliou  un- 
quiet one,  still !  O  the  pleasures  and  the  pangs  of  love  ! 
And  yet,  beloved  pan^^s,  I  would  not  exchange  you  for  the 
Assynior's  eternal  reposc3 1  O  my  king  !  to  love  thee,  that  is 
my  life  ;  but  if  my  lieart  beats  thus  at  the  anticipation  of  a 
message  from  thee,  how  sliall  I  be  able  to  see  thy  face  and 
not  die  of  joy  ? 


437 


Scene  VI. — Ebid.  Kumba. 

KiTMBA.  A  letter  from  King  Dag !    "With  it  there 

are  costly  presents  

Erid.  a  letter !  Grive  it  me,  give  it  me !  O  ye  dear 
Eunes  !  (kisses  the  Bunic  tablet  and  reads) .  He  comes,  comes 
soon  !  Eefore  the  next  new  moon  he  is  here !  Victorious, 
rich  in  honour  and  spoil,  comes  he  to  his  bride,  "  the  eternally 
beloved."    O  my  bridegroom!    O  my  Dag  ! 

Kumba  {aside).  And  I  ? 

Fb-id.  I  will  myself  make  the  arrangements  for  the  mes- 
senger's reception,  I  will  myself  speak  with  him.  I  must 
see  the  man  w^ho  has  lately  seen  my  beloved ;  I  must  hear 
him  talk  of  King  Dag.  Kumba,  go  thou  and  work  on  the 
golden  girdle,  and  be  diligent,  Kumba,  that  it  may  be  quickly 
ready.  I  will  wear  it  on  the  king's  arrival.  I  desire  that  he 
should  find  his  bride  beautiful.  I  shall  then  really  see  him 
soon !    Happy  I !  [  Goes, 

Scene  VII. 

Kumba  {alone).  But  I !  Why  was  I  born  ?  Shall  I  now 
see  them,  their  embraces,  hear  their  sighs  of  love  and  vows  of 
truth  ?  Shall  I  adorn  her  for  him ;  help  to  make  her  still 
more  beautiful  in  his  eyes  ?  So  has  she  commanded.  O  ye 
great !  ye  dream  not  that  a  slave  also  has  a  human  heart. 
You  trample  it  under  your  feet,  and  give  it  not  a  thought, 
and  take  not  the  slightest  heed  of  its  death-pangs.  "  They 
dro^n  their  complaints,"  said  she,  "  that  the  joy  of  the  high 
solemnity  may  not  be  disturbed."  They  dragged  them  forth 
to  the  stone  of  sacrifice  ;  they  murdered  them,  and  drowned 
their  complaints.  Out  of  the  fire  which  devoured  their 
quivering  limbs  there  arose  a  sweet  odour  for  the  chief  priest 
who  sung  the  praises  of  the  gods.  But  the  men  !  the  slaves ! 
the  poor!  no  help,  no  escape.  They  must  submit.  They 
were  dragged  forth  spite  of  prayers  and  resistance.  They 
must  submit.  Horrible  doom  of  the  jNTorna!  Hard  neces- 
sity !    And  for  me  to  but  why  necessity  for  me  ?    If  I 

will,  who  can  constrain  me  ?  Can  I  not,  if  I  will  it,  command 
botli  my  own  fate  and  that  of  others  ?   !N'ecessity  exists  only 


438 


for  the  weak.  The  strong  makes  his  own  laws,  and  compels 
even  the  gods.  My  stature  indeed  is  low,  but  my  will  is 
strong.    Let  the  sacrificers  tremble. 

If  I  should  kill  Trid,  and  clothe  myself  in  her  garments, 
and  deceive  King  Dag  in  the  obscurity  of  night  ?  Loke  was 
cunning,  and  Loke  was  successful.  I  feel  that  his  fire  burns 
in  my  veins.  {She  piUs  on  Frid's  mantle,  and  puts  her  crown 
on  her  head.)  In  truth  a  glorious  costume.  Well  may  the 
heart  beat  proudly  beneath  this  splendour.  Now  am  I  the 
king's  daughter.  (She  gazes  at  herself  in  a  burnished  steel 
shield.)  Woe  is  me  !  I  am  it  not.  My  figure  is  short  and 
thick,  my  eyes  small,  my  hand  rough.  Woe  !  I  am  the  bond- 
woman's daughter,  and  my  lot  is  fixed,  woe!  {Flings  doivn 
the  robe  and  crown,  and  stamps  violently.)  No,  I  will  not ;  I 
will  not  long  endure  this  torture.  The  snake  rages  in  my 
vitals,  and  I  long  after  something  which  may  still  its  hunger. 
It  must  be  done — by  some  means  !  Shall  I  go  to  the  temple, 
and  gaze  into  the  divinely-tranquil  countenance  of  the  chief 
priest,  which  allays  all  disquiet  ?  No ;  I  see  the  sacrificial 
knife  in  his  hand  ! — the  victim  bleeds, — the  sacrificers  cry — 
it  is  the  tranquiliity  of  the  gods  ! 

CHORUS  OF  SPIRITS  OF  LIGHT  UP  IN  THE  AIR. 

Look  to  heaven, 

To  the  sun  look, 

They  deceive  men  never ; 

Shrieks  of  victims 

Shall  have  ending, 

God's  sure  goodness  never ! 

Offer  hatred. 
Offer  vengeance. 
Meed  of  vengeful  will, — 
'Tis  but  torture ; 
But  the  true  heart's 
Lot  is  lovely  still. 

Wonder  not  then 
At  the  lofty 

Peace  of  powers  subljmflu 
See  how  brighten 
Earth's  own  fortunes 
In  the  far-o£r  tioM  I 


TKALIlWiir. 


439 


From  the  depths,  and 

From  the  heights,  will 

There  be  heard  voice, 

That  to  captive 

And  to  mourner 

Shall  proclaim — "  rejoice  1" 

Dumb  shall  grow  each 

Elfin  chorus ; 

But  in  heaven's  acclaim 

Loftier  spirits 

Shall  adore  the 

World-Redeemer's  name. 

KuMBA  (wahes  out  of  deep  thought^  and  says  slo'tioly).  But, 

perhaps,  after  tlie  conflict  after  the  sacrifice,  after  the  last 

bitterness,  the  last  eclipse  it  will  become  light  it  will 

be  calm,  for  the  victim !    If  one  surrenders  oneself  freely, 

bleeds  quietly,  prays,  and  dies !  1  hear  happy  voices  speak 

of  peace  and  reconciliation,  but,  perhaps,  they  are  only 

seductive  illusions.    I  have  had  such  before  !  

CHORUS  OF  SPIRITS  OF  DARKNESS  UNDER  THE  EARTH. 
Sweet  is  revenge,  for 
It  strengthens  and  quiets 
Feelings  of  storm  iu 
The  suffering  heart. 
Drink  of  its  fountain, 
Heart,  thirst-consumed, 
Deep  be  thy  draught, 
And  thy  thirst  is  no  more. 

Slavish  souls  waver — 
They  will  and  they  will  not; 
Dare,  then  shrink  trembling, 
And  perish  in  pain ! 
Spirits  heroic 
Dare,  and  accomplish, 
Quenching  their  pangs 
In  the  conqueror's  blood. 

KuMBA  {as  "before).  Yes.  Yes,  they  were  illusions — and  I 
was  merely  weak.  I  hear  well-known  voices  ascend  out  of 
the  depth,  and  reproach  me  witli  it.  Despicable  is  the 
eternally-complaining,  eternally-hesitating  soul.  Despicable 
1  will  not  be.  I  know  what  I  will  do.  Yonder,  far  amongst 
the  rocks,  on  the  desolate  shore,  which  the  traveller  dreads 


440 


Til  VLINNAIN-. 


and  the  mariner  sliuns,  dwelleth  a  sorceres.-s,  noted  for  hef 
various  knowledge,  and  exercising  the  mighty  magic  art — Seid, 
To  her  I  will  go — Avill  bestovv  on  her  the  most  precious  thing 
which  I  possess,  on  condition  that  she  exerts  her  magic  art 
for  me,  and  gives  my  heart  rest.  Ha !  this  thonght  invigorates 
my  soul.  It  is  said  that  snakes  and  wolves  are  her  com- 
panions. Them  I  fear  not.  I  have  known  them  as  they 
raged  here  within  me.    Away !  away  !    To  her  !  to  her  ! 

Scene  VIII. — Feid  (alone,  standing  in  a  windoiv  of  the 
Castle) . 

Eeid.  What  a  storm  !  The  night  is  wild,  and  in  vain  have 
I  sought  rest  upon  my  bed.  The  sea-gull's  cries  sound  shrill 
amid  the  roar  of  the  waves.  Ean's  daughters,  the  dolorous, 
the  poison- mixing,  who,  with  pale  hair,  wander  from  rock  to 
rock,  seeking  warm  human  hearts  that  they  may  press  to 
their  cold  bosoms,  how  they  now  rave  and  foam,  tumbling 
over  each  other — the  terrible  ones !  "Wildly  dash  pale  light- 
nings from  the  careering  clouds.  O  ye  friendly  powers,  who 
desire  the  good  of  men,  protect  my  beloved  one  on  his  voyage. 
Conduct  him  victoriously  through  the  storms  and  the  waves! 
He  is  a  true  descendant  of  the  race  of  the  gods,  and  so  is  his 
bride.    Protect,  bless  us  both  !  [She  is  silent. 

Is  it  the  gloom  of  night  which  thus  operates  on  my  mind, 
or — is  it  an  unhappy  foreboding  ?  But  there  is  a  strange 
feeling  in  my  bosom,  and  gloomy  thoughts  arise  there,  like 
the  black  elves  out  of  the  earth.  Frid  was  not  formerly 
weak  and  easily  terrified ;  she  has  not  trembled  at  the 
thunders  of  war ;  and  when  the  winter-night  came  black  and 
threatening,  then  I  thought  on  King  Dag  and  remained 
cheerful.  Why  then  now  ?  Now  that  he  is  no  longer  far 
off,  now  that  he  approaches  every  moment  nearer  to  me,  when 
I  shall  speedily  look  into  his  clear  eyes — wherefore  now  this 
unquiet,  this  secret  quaking  in  my  heart  ?  [Fauses, 

The  sky  is  dark  and  wild.  On  the  desolate  coast  gleam 
meteor  lights.  I  know  that  they  are  base  creatures,  and  seek 
to  injure  mankind.  But  ouglit,  indeed,  flames,  gleaming 
spirits  of  witchcraft,  to  work  evil  to  a  descendant  of  Balder  ? 
Ought  King  Da^j'a  bride  to  fear  them.    She  will  not. 

[Another  silence. 


441 


"What  strange  power  is  it  wliich  moves  itself  in  the  air — 
BO  strong,  so  mighty  to  disturb  ?  And  this  light,  so  mild, 
almost  faint,  like  a  feeble  petitioner — whom  does  it  guide 
through  the  dark  night  ?  Why  is  this  light  so  different  to 
that  of  the  sun  in  splendour,  and  in  its  effect  on  the  heart  ? 
How  it  battles  with  the  dark  clouds  !  Now  it  is  quenched. 
Strange  world,  strange  dark  deep  !  

I  have  been  very  happy.  I  have  gone  through  life  as  in 
the  radiance  of  a  strong  sunshine.  If  at  any  time  the  night 
threatened  me,  there  came  only  a  brighter  day.  But  if  the 
night  should  now  come  in  earnest,  and  change  my  life  into 
darkness !  

I  have  not  reflected  much  on  life.  The  very  happy  merely 
enjoy,  and  do  not  think.  I  have  enjoyed  life,  and  praised 
the  goodness  of  the  gods.  But  many  are  not  so  happy  as  I 
am.  Many  have  little  or  no  gladness.  How  do  the  world 
and  the  gods  appear  to  them  ?  

Thoughts  arise  in  me  which  I  never  had  before.  The  lot 
of  life  seems  to  me  strangely  dealt  on  the  earth.  "Why  do 
some  men  receive  so  much,  and  others  so  little  ?  The  god- 
desses of  fate  sprinkle  the  branches  of  the  tree  of  the  world 
with  life-giving  streams  ;  but  the  drops  fall  unequally.  0  ! 
but  the  fresh,  the  richly-sprinkled  branches  will  bend  them- 
selves over  the  dry  ones,  and  impart  to  them  of  their  mois- 
ture. This  is  certainly  the  will  of  the  benevolent  gods,  and 
Frid's  highest  happiness  shall  be  to  follow  it.  And  if  some 
time  my  hour  should  come,  my  hour  to  suffer — what  is  that  ? 
Te  gods !  what  a  hideous  shape  rides  there  on  the  pale  moon- 
beams !  He  is  little  and  black  as  a  son  of  Hel.  Is  it  one 
of  the  spirits  which  was  born  to  Loke  by  the  witch  Angur- 
boda ;  or  is  it  a  creation  of  my  sick  imagination  ?    No,  it 

draws  nearer !    It  is  no  illusion !  Speak,  hideous  one  ! 

Who  art  thou  ?    What  is  thy  will  ? 

Black-Elf.  From  the  under-earth  I  come  on  a  message 
to  thee. 

Erid.  To  what  end  ?    Wherefore  ? 

Black-Elf.  Misfortune  awaits  thee.  Death  threatens 
thee. 

Erid.  Death !    Ah,  no !    I  will  not  die,  no  ! 
Black-Elf.  Death  is  near  thee. 

EfiiD.  Nay,  nay !    Ah !    What  dost  thou  at  my  heart  ? 


U2 


It  is  become  so  heavy.  Away,  black  one,  away  Tbou  iDayst 
not  injure  me  !    I  am  of  the  race  of  the  gods. 

Black-Elf.  Hel  waits  for  thee  in  his  dark  dwelling. 

\^IIe  vanishes, 

Frid.  I  will  not !  No,  I  will  not !  Away  !  Ha !  What 
a  frost  there  is  in  my  veins !    Kumba !    Kumba  ! 

Scene  IX. — Kijmba*  Frid. 
Kumba.  Princess  ? 

Erid.  Kumba!  I  am  ill!  Nay,  turn  not  so  pale,  Kumba. 
It  will  pass  away.  Is  he  gone,  the  hideous  one  ?  Seest  thou 
nothing,  Kumba  ?  there,  in  the  moonshine  ? 

Kumba.  I  see  nothing — except  the  shadow  of  thy  own 
head  on  the  wall.    Look  thyself. 

Frid.  I  have,  indeed,  had  a  bad  dream.  It  was  a  miser- 
able dream — a  very  miserable  dream.  It  agitated  me  deeply. 
It  was  a  weakness.    Grive  me  something  to  drink. 

Kumba.  Take  this  draught.    It  will  strengthen  you. 

Frid.  Thanks — I  need  it.  How  thy  hand  trembles,  good 
Kumba.    The  drink  was  good.    Thanks,  Kumba ! 

Kumba  (after  a  moment's  silence) .  Dost  thou  feel  thyself 
better  ? 

Frid.  Yes — I  am  better.  I  am  calmer  now.  Gro  again 
to  thy  bed,  Kumba.  I,  too,  will  go  to  rest,  and  endeavour  to 
forget  this  dream.    Grood  night. 

Kumba.  Good  night !  \_She  withdraws, 

Frid.  I  will  try  to  sleep.  I  will  no  longer  think  on  this 
hideous  apparition.  It  was,  perhaps,  only  a  deception,  a 
night  shadow,  which  will  vanish  in  the  light  of  day.  I  will 
sleep, — I  will  sleep. 

Act  IL — Scene  I. — The  Flower  Garden,    The  evening. 
Kumba.  Feima. 

Kumba.  Thou  weepest,  Feima. — Wherefore  ? 

Feima.  Canst  thou  ask  ?  Is  not  the  daughter  of  kings 
sick,  sick  to  death  ?  Do  not  her  steps  every  day  become 
fainter,  her  cheeks  paler  ?  See  we  not  the  traces  of  bitter 
tears  on  that  countenance  which  before  beamed  only  with 
Bmiles  ?    Is  not  her  very  voice  weak  and  faltering  ? 


443 


KrMBA.  And  therefore  dost  thou  weep  ? 

Eeima.  Yes;  I  weep,  I  will  weep,  that  the  lovely,  the 
divinely-good  Trid  shall  go  away  from  the  earth ;  that  Hreimer 
and  I  shall  lose  our  beloved  mistress ;  that  the  young  king 
will  come  home,  and  find  his  beautiful  bride  grown  pale. 
How  desolate  will  the  rose-garden  be,  when  we  no  longer  see 
there  the  daughter  of  kings,  no  longer  hear  her  silver  voice  • 
no  longer  see  her  beautiful  countenance,  she,  the  queen  of 
all  flowers  !  O,  it  was  a  feast  for  me  even  to  look  upon 
her ! 

Ktjmba.  Thou  callest  her  the  divinely-good.  Why  sayst 
thou  that  ? 

Teima.  Is  she  not  so  ?  Does  she  not  desire  to  make 
every  creature  happy  ? 

KuMBA.  Out  of  her  rich  treasure,  she  takes  some  gold-dust 
and  throws  it  around  her.  Who  could  not  do  that  ?  What 
endures,  what  suffers  she  for  the  help  of  her  fellow-creatures  ? 
Does  she,  indeed,  touch  with  a  finger  the  burden  under  which 
thou  art  bowed  down  ?  Does  she  stoop  in  order  to  alleviate 
thy  fatigue  ? 

Teima  Kumba,  thou  art  strange!  Can,  indeed,  one  of 
the  race  of  the  gods  do  thus  ? 

KuMBA.  Why  not,  if  it  be  good  ?  Is  not  goodness,  is  not 
mercy  divine  ? 

Eeima.  Yes  ;  but  the  high  gods,  and  their  descendants, 
cannot  perform  the  labours  of  slaves.  It  is  not  befitting 
them.    Every  one  has  his  proper  part. 

Ktjmba.  See  then — it  is  therefore  that  I  cannot  do  homage 
to  thy  gods,  because  they  deem  themselves  too  good  to  do 
good  to  us.  My  God,  he  before  whom  I  would  bow  my 
knee,  must  do  otherwise. 

Eeima.  And  how  ? 

Ktjmba.  He  should  cause  himself  to  be  born  in  a  lowly 
hut ;  he  should  participate  in  our  burdens  and  our  sufferings  ; 
he  should  choose  his  friends  from  amongst  the  despised  and 
poor.  He  should,  like  the  slaves,  be  scorned  by  the  high, 
and  partaking  in  their  whole  fortune,  should,  although  inno- 
cent, be  put  to  death  as  a  malefactor.  But  after  death,  he 
should  come  again  in  his  glory  to  his  own,  and  say  to  them, 

"  I  have  suffered  this  with  you  and  for  you,  that  you  might 


not  despair,  but  believe  that  the  Father  of  all  looks  down 
upon  you ;  for,  on  the  other  side  of  Hel's  dwellings,  he  has 
prepared  a  place  for  you,  where  you  shall  rest  from  your 
labours,  where  your  tears  shall  be  wiped  away,  and  where 
fou  shall  live  in  glory  mth  me  to  the  end  of  the  world!" 
Oh,  many  other  words  should  he  say,  at  which  the  earth 
should  tremble — power  should  be  thrown  down — chains 
should  burst,  and  the  fate  of  the  slaves  be  changed  .  .  .  . 
the  earth  be  bathed  in  blood  !  .  .  .  .  Ha !  glorious,  glorious  ! 

Teima.  What  spirit  speaks  through  thee  ?  Foam  stands 
around  thy  pale  lips.  And  thy  words !  How  wild  and 
strange  they  sound !  Kumba  !  listen  !  Thou  terrifiest  me  ; 
but  I  understand  thee  not. 

Ktjmba.  That  I  believe. 

Feima.  But  this  I  understand,  that  she  is  good  who  gave 
me  this  chain,  who  built  for  Hreimer  and  me  a  cottage ;  who 
every  day  made  my  heart  glad  with  her  friendly  words.  I 
know  that  I  would  rather  bear  burdens  twice  as  heavy  than 
see  her  oppressed  by  the  least  thing.  When  she  commands, 
and  I  obey  her,  I  know  that  it  ought  so  to  be,  and  that  it  is 
best  for  us  both  that  it  should  be  so. 

Ktjmba.  Thou  art  a  slave,  body  and  soul.  Eemain  in  thy 
dust ! 

Feima.  I  will  so,  Kumba,  and  it  shall  not  hinder  me  from 
being  contented,  and  from  believing  in  the  goodness  of  the 
gods  to  great  and  small.  To  the  gods  will  I  now  pray  for 
the  daughter  of  kings,  that  she  may  be  restored  to  life,  to 
her  young  consort  and  us.  Blessed  be  he  who  heals  her ; 
blessed  be  he  who  averts  from  her  Hel's  cold  hand !  But 
cursed  be  he  who  desires  her  suiFering !  And  if  it  be  a  human 
hand,  may  it  be  thus  cursed  !  May  Nifelhem's  cold  poison- 
stream  drop  for  ever  on  the  traitor's  heart;  may  he  never 
enjoy  gladness  on  the  earth  ! 

Kumba.  Sister,  speak  not  thus  ! 

Feima.  Yes,  thus  will  I  speak !  I  will  work  evil  to  the 
evil  one  who  desires  the  death  of  the  good  one !  But  I  will 
not  yet  despair.  I  will  sacrifice  and  pray  for  her.  Seest 
thou  this  beautiful  chain  ?  I  received  it  from  her  ;  for  her 
will  I  offer  it  for  the  reconcilement  of  the  unfriendly  powers ! 

[  Goes, 


TEALINNAS'. 


445 


SCEKE  II. 

KuMBA  {alone).  Blessings,  curses,  all  are  alike  to  menow^ 
and  stir  my  heart  scarcely  more  than  a  faint  evening  breeze 
stirs  the  leaf  of  the  aspen.  Thus  has  it  been  within  me  since 
I  ate  of  the  she-wolf's  heart,  at  the  old  w^oman's  in  Jernskog. 
It  made  my  heart  hard  and  cold.  The  swelling,  its  scathing 
torture,  ceased.  Hunger  for  revenge  grew  strong  for  action. 
I  took  courage  to  give  to  the  proud  daughter  of  kings  the 
poison-draught  w^hich  the  sorceress  had  prepared.  Since 
then  there  lies  a  trance  upon  my  soul — it  seems  to  me  to 
sleep  heavily,  heavily ; — will  it  not  awake  ?  {A  pause.)  Frid 
is  dying.  Js'ow  is  her  joyous  career  closed.  Now  she  par- 
takes the  mortal  fate  of  others,  and  can  learn  what  suffering 
is.  Now  will  she  not  embrace,  and  be  embraced  by  King 
Dag.  All  this  beauty,  this  pride,  this  splendour  will  wither, 
moulder  into  dust !  No  more  w  ill  she  pass  like  a  reproach 
over  my  lite,  my  feelings.    I  shall  get  rest ! 

Rest !  Thou  didst  promise  it  me,  mighty,  dark  Grrim- 
gerda ;  but  yet  lives  a  gloomy  disquiet  in  the  depth  of  my 
soul.  I  thirst  after  her  tears.  Methinks  they  w^ould  cool 
my  tongue.  A  hunger  devours  me  to  see  her  sufferings, 
hear  her  lamentations.  That  must  proceed  from  the  she- 
wolf's  heart.  Before,  I  was  not  so  hard.  And  yet — if  it 
could  but  be  undone — if  I  could  in  the  fountain  of  Urda 
purify  myself  from  this  guilt  ....  could  I  yet  go  away 
and  die  innocent !    .    .    .  . 

But  it  is  too  late.  Therefore  away,  foolish  thoughts !  It 
is  too  late  ;  I  cannot  return ;  and  therefore  forward,  forward 
into  the  night,  till  all  becomes  dark  ;  forward  into  hardness, 
till  all  becomes  rigid  and  dead.  Powers  of  Afgrund,  strengthen 
my  heart !  I  cannot  win  reconcilement  with  heaven.  Well 
then,  Afgrund!  give  to  me  then  the  benefit  of  my  crime. 
Frid  approaches.  I  will  fix  my  attention  on  her  feel3le  gait, 
on  her  pale  countenance,  her  dimmed  glance.  Ha  !  now  be 
proud,  daughter  of  kings !  Boast  now  of  love  and  honour 
I  will  hide  myself  behind  the  hedge  of  roses,  and  listen  to 
her  bewailings.  Sweeter  w^ill  they  be  to  me  than  the  song  ol 
the  nightingale  in  the  evening. 


446 


TRALINNAN. 


Scene  III. — Feid  {her  appearance  hetrays  a  great  dehilitt/y 
wasting  sitffering') , 

!Prid.  This  is  the  hour  when  all  things  weep  the  death  of 
Balder.  There  is  no  tree,  no  leaf,  no  flower,  which  is  not 
bathed  in  silent  tears  ;  the  very  stones  are  bedewed  with  sad- 
ness. Now  is  Nature  weak  ;  her  soul  is  moved ;  now  can 
she  perhaps  feel  sympathy  with  the  sufferings  of  a  daughter 
of  humanity ;  and  will  hear  her  prayer,  and  put  an  end  to 
her  torment. 

\_Ske  supports  herself  tJiougJitfully  against  a  tree. 

He  died,  the  good — wounded  by  the  hand  of  a  subtle  foe, 
and  in  the  same  instant  Peace  quenched  her  torch,  and  Dis- 
cord kindled  her  crackling  flames.  Pain  and  tears  made  their 
home  on  the  earth.  Before,  it  was  not  thus ;  before,  it  wa^ 
very  different.  The  gods  played  joyously  on  the  green  earth, 
and  in  love  created  the  race  of  men.  But  giant  maids  came 
and  excited  woe  ;  and  monsters  arose,  and  strife  .... 

.  I  did  not  notice  this  before,  but  now  I  see  it,  for  the  agony 
which  consumes  my  body,  opens  my  eyes  to  the  world's 
suffering.  What  is  good  what  is  pure  in  life  ?  Does  not 
the  serpent  of  Midgard  coil  his  venomous  circle  round  the 
earth  ?  Does  not  Nidhogg  gnaw  at  the  root  of  the  Tree  of 
the  World  ?  Is  there  not  found  a  concealed  worm  in  every 
human  heart,  in  the  bosom  of  every  flower  ?  It  slumbers 
for  a  while,  and  the  flower  diffuses  its  fragrance,  and  the 
man  smiles.  But  it  wakes,  comes  forth,  and  stings,  and  the 
flower  withers,  and  the  man  dies. 

My  hour,  too,  is  come ;  my  hour  of  suffering.  Since  the 
night  when  the  Black-elf  came  with  its  message  of  terror,  a 
secret  disease  corrodes  my  heart,  and  my  days  and  my  nights 
are  without  repose.  My  eyes  are  weak,  my  lips  parched,  my 
knees  tremble — my  strength  of  life  dies  away !    .    .    .  . 

O  Dag !  O  my  bridegroom  !  What  wilt  thou  say  when 
thou  comest  to  thy  castle,  and  findest  thy  bride  changed  into 
a  pale  ghost  ?  Yes,  perhaps  before  ....  but  no ! 
that  were  too  cruel !  To  die  without  having  seen  thee  were 
eternal  misery.  No  !  so  savage  the  Nornor  are  not !  O  no  I 
Stands  not  the  All-Father's  heaven  above  me  so  clear  and 
mild  ?  Stand  not  the  beings  of  nature  all  around  me  so 
tearful  and  tender  ?    Why,  then,  should  I  despair  ?  Why 


447 


Bhould  I  not  yet  hope  to  regain  life  and  happiness  ?  Perhaps 
this  suffering  was  merely  sent  to  make  me  better,  and  more 
grateful.  I  will  bow  myself  before  the  gods  of  nature,  and 
implore  them  for  help ;  for  great  is  my  suffering,  great  my 
need  of  alleviation. 

O  ye  friendly  powers  which  murmur  in  the  green  trees ! 
Strong  and  healing  are  the  juices  which  the  sun  pours  into 
your  bosoms.  Proud  and  strong  do  ye  stand  against  storm 
and  winter,  but  on  the  head  of  the  weary  wanderer  you 
stretch  your  protecting  arms,  and  give  a  covert  to  the  young 
of  the  bird.  Hear,  ye  gentle  existences,  my  lamentation  and 
my  prayer.  Torture  consumes  my  limbs,  and  will  sink  by 
degrees  my  body  to  the  grave  !  Tell  me,  O  tell  me !  have 
you  strength  which  can  give  life  to  my  strength ;  manna, 
which  can  invigorate  mine  ? 

The  Spirits  or  the  Tree.  We  have  it  not ! 

Frid.  Ye  spirits  which  sport  in  the  bosom  of  the  flowers, 
which  glance  up  so  beautifully  and  joyously  at  the  light,  ye 
whom  I  trusted,  and  loved,  and  kissed ;  say,  ye  lovely,  gracious 
beings,  can  ye  alleviate,  can  ye  help  me  ? 

Spirits  oe  the  Plowers  (softly/  and  sadly),  "We  can 
not. 

Prid.  Te  pale  dwarfs,  which  dwell  in  cliffs  and  stones ! 
I  turn  to  you  now,  and  implore,  implore  with  tears,  for  great 
is  my  suffering !    You,  too,  weep  the  death  of  Balder.  O 
certainly,  goodness  like  gold  dwells  within  your  bosoms. 
Deny  me  not.    Grive  healing ;  give  help ! 

The  Dwarfs  {roughly).  ISTo  ! 

Prid.  Everywhere  refusal !  .  .  .  that  is  hard.  Nature 
abandons  me.  Mighty  All-Pather !  wilt  thou  also  do  so  ? 
To  thy  heaven  I  venture  to  lift  my  hands,  and  pray  for  that 
life  which  I  received  as  a  gift  from  thee.  Burns  not  tliv 
evening-heaven  so  gloriously  in  the  light  of  thy  countenance  ? 
Dost  thou  not  look  down  upon  the  earth  with  love,  and  on 
the  beings  whom  thou  hast  created  ?  All-Pather  !  listen  to 
my  prayer !  Let  me  live  !  Let  me,  at  least,  once  more  wit- 
ness the  return  of  my  bridegroom ;  let  me  yet  once  see,  and 
embrace  my  Dag!  And  if  thou  grantest  my  request — send 
me  a  sign.  Let  a  star  fall,  let  a  sough  pass  through  the 
grove !  {Pauses.)  All  is  hushed  !  It  is  silent  as  the  grave. 
The  red  flames  of  evening  expire,  ar  d  the  welkin  grows  dark, 


448 


TRALINKAN. 


Denied  even  here  !  Denied  or  unheard.  It  is  then  certain! 
I  must  die  !  [^Retires  in  silence, 

ILxjWBK  {comes for tJi).  Beautiful!  glorious!  She  sighed; 
she  prayed  like  me,  and  was  unheard  like  me.  Now  are  we 
alike,  daughter  of  kings.  Pleasure  sits  like  a  eramp  in  my 
heart.  Eor  this  moment  of  enjoyment  have  thanks,  mighty 
Grrimgerda ! 

Scene  IV. — A  Boom  in  the  Castle.    Feid  lies  on  a  couch. 
It  is  deep  twilight. 

Feid.  Long,  long  hours,  how  heavily  ye  stride  on  ;  and 
nothing  affords  one  moment  of  rest  or  forgetfulness.  The 
worm  gnaws,  and  eats  even  deeper  into  the  tree  of  my  life. 
Hresvelger,  devourer  of  corpses  ! — thou  who  sittest  at  the 
northern  end  of  heaven,  and  waftest  with  thy  wings — I  hear 
thy  cold  wind  murmur  around  me.  O,  I  am  sick,  sick  even 
to  the  soul !  Darkness  has  obtained  power  over  me  !  My 
Dag  is  absent !  I  shall  die.  I  shall  quit  the  friendly  earth. 
I  shall  relinquish  my  chosen  consort,  never  more  to  be  en- 
'Jghtened  by  his  glance,  never  more  led  by  his  hand.  How 
will  it  be  with  me  ?  They  tell  of  heavenly  dwellings, 
where  the  noble  and  the  just  find  entrance  when  they  issue 
from  Hel's  dark  realm.  What  are  they?  Are  they  indeed 
for  me,  and  how  will  it  be  with  me  in  them  ?  Shall  I  never 
see  again  my  beloved  king  ?  Shall  I  love  him  still  when 
death  chills  my  heart  ?  Ah,  what  is  my  life  without  my 
love  !  How  uncertain,  how  desolate,  pale,  and  wild  is  all  in 
the  realm  of  shadows  !  I  shall  die  !  I  feel  how  my  life 
dwindles  away.  Shall  it  sink  into  eternal  night  ?  But  if  all 
here  in  life — love,  virtue,  suffering,  patience,  should  be  in 

vain  O  bitter,  bitter  thought!    Good  All- Father,  no  I 

That  cannot  be.  I  will  hope,  I  will  trust  in  thee.  Thou 
didst  create  the  sun  and  love — thou  must  be  as  good  as  thou 
art  powerful.  I  will  put  my  head  beneath  thy  hand,  and  will 
praise  tliee  even  in  the  embrace  of  torture.  When  tr.y  tears 
fall,  they  shall  not  accuse  thee.  Forgive  my  weakness,  my 
complaints  !  They  will  soon  be  over.  I  have  loved  thee,  and 
trusted  m  thee.  I  will  love  thee  and  trust  in  tliee  still,  and 
in  my  love  will  find  strength  to  bear  my  fate.        [A pause. 

How  ])eaceful  is  it  become  within  my  bosom  !    I  breathe 


TEALHSKAI^". 


449 


more  easily.  Methinks  that  a  breath  of  life  is  breathed  upon 
my  forehead.    It  grows  light. 

\_A  radiant  JjiauT'lEiijY  appears  at  the  foot  o/Eeid's  bed. 
What  an  apparition  !    My  eyes  are  dazzled  ! 

l_She  covers  her  eyes  with  her  hands.   After  a  moment^  shs 
again  looks  up. 

Is  it  still  there  ?  Beautiful,  radiant  being !  whose  splen- 
dour is  like  that  of  the  sun,  whose  countenance  is  mild  as 
that  of  a  vernal  sky.    Who  art  thou  ?    And  whence  ? 

Light-Elf.  My  home  is  the  pale  azure  space.  I  am  of 
the  race  of  elves,  a  guardian  genius  for  mankind. 

Ebid.  O  thou  comest  to  me  as  a  messenger  of  life  and 
gladness  !  Thou  bringest  me  certainly  some  of  the  apples  of 
Iduna,  which  have  power  to  renew  the  youth  even  of  the 
gods.  Thou  comest  to  restore  to  me  health  and  happiuess — 
my  heart  tells  me  so.  Or  why  else  shouldst  thou  come  so 
kindly  and  radiantly  ?  The  gods  have  sent  thee  to  me  to 
put  an  end  to  this  bitter  trial,  to  give  me  again  my  Dag ! 
Why  is  thy  mild  glance  so  powerful  ?  Why  dost  thou 
quench  thy  clear  beams  ?  Ah,  shine,  shine,  gracious  being  ! 
Kindle  with  thy  light  the  beams  of  life  again  in  my  bosom. 

Lioht-Elf  (sorrowfully).  Daughter  of  man  !  I  cannot! 

Eeid.  Cannot?  Art  thou  not  sent  hither  by  gracious 
powers  to  raise  and  gladden  ? 

Light-Elf.  I  came  to  console  thee — to  make  thy  death 
less  bitter. 

Erid.  Must  I  then  die  ? 

Light-Elf.  The  Nornor  have  determined  it. 

Erid.  The  goddesses  of  Eate  ?  The  inexorable,  the  fear- 
ful !  What  have  I  done  to  them  ?  Why  do  they  desire  my 
death  ? 

Light-Elf.  Daughter  of  man,  I  do  not  know.  Tlie  chd- 
dren  of  Alfhem  are  permitted  to  know  the  will  of  the  IMigbty 
One,  but  not  to  penetrate  its  causes. 

Erid.  Then  why  comest  thou  to  me  ?  Why  shouldst 
thou,  by  awaking  fresh  hopes,  awaken  fresh  pangs  ?  Leave 
me  !  I  can  die  without  thee.  Leave  me !  Thy  light  gives 
me  pain. 

[_TJie  Light-Elf  retires,  and  waits  at  the  bottom  of  th6 
room  like  afaintqlimmer, 
2  F 


450 


Frid.  Is  ho  ^one  ?    I  was  impatient,  hasty  !    Hovt  wealr 

I  am !    And  he  came  to  give  me  consolation   But  what  ? 

Do  I  not  see  yonder,  although  feeble,  his  friendly  gleam  ?  O 
come  again,  thou  lovely,  gracious  being  !  Pardon  the  weak- 
ness of  the  dying.    Come  back  !  and  If  thou  hast  comfort  to 

give  me,  speak  to  me,  and  strengthen  my  soul  

\_The  LiaHT-ELF  returns,  hut  surrounds  himself  only  with 
a  feeble  gloiu.    Fhid  proceeds. 

Thou  art  very  good,  and  it  does  my  heart  good.  I  feel 
that  to  thee  I  can  open  my  innermost  heart.  See,  friendly 
being,  I  have  suffered  much  in  a  short  time ;  and  my  own 
anguish  has  made  my  eyes  quick  to  perceive  the  sufferings  of 
mortals.  It  has  seemed  to  me  that  nothing  was  good  on 
earth  ;  and  there  have  been  moments  in  which  I  have  doubted 
of  the  goodness  of  the  gods — of  all  that  makes  life  valuable  ; 
for  all  under  the  sun  was  uncertain  and  changeable — all 
flowers  blooming  only  to  wither — all  creatures  born  only 
to  die. 

Light-Ele.  Does  not  the  heaven  vault  itself  eternally  over 
the  changeable  earth,  embracing  it  from  morning  till  even- 
ing ?  So  does  the  All-Father  surround  the  world,  and  bear 
it  in  his  faithful  embrace.  The  sun  continues  for  ever  the 
same  ;  and  in  the  sun  thou  beholdest  an  image  of  the  All- 
Father's  ever-watching  eye  ! 

Feid.  Yet  war  exists  on  earth ;  and  the  old  legends  prog- 
nosticate a  fearful  strife,  in  which  the  earth,  and  men,  and 
gods  shall  perish. 

Light-Elf.  They  will  rise  again,  glorified.  One  God, 
mighty,  just,  and  good,  will  then  reign  in  all.  Balder  will 
again  live  upon  the  earth,  and  all  evil  will  disappear  from  it. 
O  daughter  of  man !  the  path  of  life  is  strife  ;  but  the  goal 
is  peace,  and  the  means  reconciliation.  A  day  shall  come 
when  heaven  and  earth  become  one,  and  gods  and  men,  as  of 
old,  shall  on  the  green  Idavall  play  happily  together. 

Frii).  But  when  the  powers  contend,  when  worlds  perish 
and  are  born  again,  O  say !  where  shall  the  souls  who  are 
already  gone  hence  find  their  home  ? 

Li gut-Elf.  Many  good  houses  has  the  All-Father  for  the 
just  on  earth.  But  the  most  beautiful  is  the  lofty  Gimle  ;  a 
house  more  fair  than  the  sun,  and  roofed  with  gold.  There 
ehall  fciithful  and  word-keeping  men  dwell. 


TBALINNAN. 


451 


Feid.  Is  tliere  a  home  there  for  me  ?  Shall  my  d^\^elliiig 
be  Gimle  the  lofty  ? 

Light-Elf.  Daughter  of  man  !  I  cannot  tell  thee  that ;  for 
many  are  the  races  of  man,  and  many  are  the  houses.  Per- 
haps Trigga  will  take  thee  up  into  her  glorious  Yingolf, 
amongst  the  blessed  troops  of  the  Assynior.  Perhaps  wilt 
thou  become  one  of  the  chosen  virgins  who  dwell  with  Grefion 
in  her  heavenly  palace.  Thy  dwelling  I  cannot  declare  ;  but 
one  thing  I  can  promise  thee,  in  the  name  of  the  mighty  gods 
— life  after  de^.th  ! 

Prid.  And  tell  me,  0  tell  me  ! — for,  of  all  things,  that  is 
to  me  the  most  important — shall  I,  beyond  death,  see  again 
my  beloved  king,  my  bridegroom  ? 

Light-Elf.  Is  thy  soul  strong  in  its  love  to  him  ? 

Prid.  Without  him  life  has  no  value  for  me  ;  but  to  pur- 
chase immortality  for  him,  I  will  myself  become  nothing. 

Light-Elf.  O  then  rejoice,  daughter  of  man  !  Por  if  thy 
love  is  stronger  than  death,  then  death  can  never  again  have 
power  to  separate  you. 

Prid.  Almighty  and  good  gods  !    What  say  est  thou  ? 

Light-Elf.  After  death  thou  shalt  become  his  Pylgia,  and 
guide  him  through  all  life's  dispensations.  In  his  dreams 
thou  canst  approach  him,  and  whisper  in  his  ears  thy  eternal 
truth ;  thou  canst  warn  him  of  the  dangers  which  menace 
him,  of  the  foe  who  seeks  his  life.  When  he  reposes  from 
his  fatigues  in  war,  thou  canst  draw  near  to  him  in  the  shape 
of  a  bird,  and  enchant  his  soul  with  song.  Changed  into  the 
loveliest  rose,  thou  canst  breathe  fragrance  for  him,  and  in 
fragrance  impart  thy  love.  When  a  treacherous  enemy  lies 
in  wait  for  him,  thirsting  for  his  blood,  thou  canst  take  his 
form,  and  the  traitor  shall  cast  his  spear  at  thee,  and  pierce — 
only  the  air  !    But  thou  weepest  ?  

Prid.  Por  joy !  How  delightful  are  thy  words,  beautiful 
child  of  the  azure  welkin.  Why  do  they  not  let  death  become 
bright  ?  I  shall  no  longer  fear  the  time  which  separates  me 
from  earthly  life,  since,  O  my  Dag  !  I  shall  then  better  be 
able  to  accompany  and  serve  thee  than  I  am  in  this  mortal 
shape.  But  tell  me  more,  O  spirit  of  light !  tell  under  what 
circumstances  his  death-hour  also  shall  arrive ! 

Light-Elf.  His  Pylgia  can  cause  him  to  fall  with  honour 
amid  the  glory  of  battle  and  victory.  Por  him  the  house  of 
2  F  2 


452 


TRALINNAlir. 


spirits  cannot  be  dark,  for  thou  wilt  be  there  to  receive  him 
The  King  of  Shadows  will  unite  thee  to  thy  consort. 

Erid.  Beautiful,  but  wild  sound  thy  words.  Shudderinga 
pass  through  me.  Dark  seems  to  me  life  in  the  kingdom  of 
the  dead.  Yet  love  lives  there,  and  in  the  Spirit's  house  I 
shall  meet  my  consort.  But  afterwards,  0  Spirit  of  Light ! — 
afterwards — shall  he  leave  me  ?  May  I  accompany  him  to 
Odin's  radiant  halls  ?  May  I  not  sit  there  on  the  seat  by  his 
side,  and  fill  his  cup  with  wine  ? 

Light-Elf.  Mortal!  ask  no  more.  No  more  can  I  telL 
Deep  are  the  councils  of  the  gods,  and  the  children  of  Alfhem 
cannot  fathom  them.  Many  a  secret  rests  yet  in  the  breast 
of  the  mighty  ;  many  a  beauty,  many  a  strength,  which  one 
day  shall  be  revealed.  Many  stars,  yet  unknown,  shall  be 
kindled  in  the  All-Father's  heaven. 

Frid.  And  the  life  which  shall  be  kindled  in  this  celestial 
home — shall  it  no  more  die  ? 

LiaHT-ELr.  That  is  known  to  the  gods ;  we  know  it  not. 

Frid.  Eadiant  pictures  hast  thou  given  me,  but  surrounded 
by  darkness.    My  soul  is  sorrowful. 

LiaHT-ELE.  O  daughter  of  man !  Complain  not,  but 
humble  thyself  before  the  will  of  the  gods.  For  too  insigni- 
ficant is  man,  that  the  gods  on  his  account  should  lay  open 
their  sacred  depths.  Be  satisfied  with  the  light  which  their 
goodness  bestows,  and  sink  consoled  into  the  All-Father's 
embrace.  \_IIe  disappears. 

Scene  V. — A  wild  Scene  of  Hocks.    It  is  night, 

KiJMBA.  Where  am  I  ?  ....  I  have  lost  my  way.  Around 
me  glide  the  spectres  of  night,  and  over  me  thunders  the 
Avenger.  It  is  so  dark  both  without  and  within  my  bosom  ; 
is  so  stifling.    Air !  light ! 

[^Thunder  and  lightning,     A  tree  near  Kumba  falls 
headlong.    She  darts  forward,  and  seeks  refuge  in  a 
cleft  of  the  rocks. 
What  was  that  ?    Ha !  merely  a  tree  which  fell,  struck 
by  the  thunderbolt.    Why  do  I  tremble  ?    Why  am  I  ter- 
rified ?    Are  not  these  bare  uplands  familiar  to  me  ?  Are 
they  not  pale  scenes  out  of  my  soul's  thunder-night  ? 

[A  pame* 


TfllLINNAJS". 


453 


Why  is  it  now  so  hushed,  so  silent  ?  This  silence  is  tor- 
ture. Why  gleam  the  wan  stars  so  wildly  over  the  crags  ? 
The  whole  sky  is  one  cloud.  Can  they  see  through  the 
clouds  ?  What  comes  sailing  there  over  the  black  ridge  of 
rocks  ?  Ah,  merely  a  cloud,  a  dark  thunder-cloud.  It  shrouds 
the  stars  ; — good ! — I  am  tired  of  wandering  about ! — I  have 
long  gone  round  as  in  a  magic  circle  ; — I  must  rest. 

[Pauses,    KuMBA  leans  against  a  rock,  and  afterwards 
proceeds  more  calmly. 

It  is  the  hour  when  the  wilderness  is  alive  ;  when  its  mis- 
creations,  born  at  midnight,  roam  forth  to  visit  the  dwellings 
of  man.  The  moon,  the  sun  of  dark  spirits,  sends  abroad 
her  wan  beams  to  light  them  in  their  nocturnal  way.  There 
rides  Mara  on  her  dragon-steed,  she  who  stifled  King  Yan- 
land  in  his  pleasant  sleep,  before  he  could  say  farewell  to  his 
family.  There  rise  the  dead  and  Dvalin's  daughters  from  the 
bogs,  and  with  peering  eyes  creep  small  spirits  forth  from 
their  caves.  Painful  feelings,  wicked  thoughts  go  they  to 
awaken  in  the  souls  of  tliose  who  rest  on  their  beds.  They 
seek  to  create  disquiet,  I  seek  rest.  I  seek  the  sorceress,  she 
who  deceived  me.  I 'will  compel  her  to  ke6;p  her  promise. 
But  it  is  so  dark ;  I  cannot  find  again  the  way  to  her  house. 
Who  shall  show  it  to  me  ?  [A  whirlwind. 

Ha !  the  whirlwind,  the  spirit  of  the  sorceress !  That 
tells  me  that  the  old  woman  is  not  far  olF. 

[Afresh  ivhirlwind* 

Again !  Good.  I  come,  Grimgerda.  Have  thanks  for 
thy  strengthening  summons.         [Thunder  and  lightning. 

Why  quakes t  thou,  tree,  till  thy  very  roots  tremble  ?  Why 
this  howling  in  the  wood  ?  Joturen  makes  such  a  riot 
amongst  the  rocky  hills  that  the  giant-cauldrons  ring. 
Startled  creep  the  dwarfs  back  into  their  hiding-places,  ter- 
rified at  the  thunder  of  the  gods.  Cowardly  creatures  of 
earth  !  Cold  drops  of  perspiration,  indeed,  stand  on  my 
brow ;  but  I  shrink  not  away  like  you !  Lighten,  lighten, 
Father  Thor,  angry  ruler  of  the  cloudy  air ;  and  if  I  must  be 
thy  Thrall  after  death,  then  is  it  only  reasonable  that  for 
once  thou  shouldst  serve  me,  and  light  up  my  earthly  waf 
with  thy  flaming  glances. 

[Fierce  lightnings,  amid  which  Kumba  disappears  amon^ 
the  crags. 


454 


Scene  VI. — A  llach  mountain  Cave.  Within  glimmers  a  tea 
fire.  A  Jcettle  stands  on  the  fire  ;  three  Vipers  hang  over 
it,  out  of  whose  mon  ths  venom  drops.  The  Sorceress  Grim-^ 
gerda  stirs  the  kettle,  while  she  mutters  softly  and  makes 
mystic  signs.  JBlack-elves,  wicked  Disor,  and  Imps,  move 
themselves  restlessly  in  the  cave.  Two  Wolves  watch  its 
entrance. 

Imps. 

Wliat  is  that  wliich  rustles  ? 

What  is  that  which  bustles 

In  the  wood  and  the  dark  out  there  ? 

A  woman  cometh  hither ! 

Ah  !  now  for  a  sly  joke  with  her ! 

Quick !  and  we'll  seize  her  ere  she  is  aware ! 

G-RIMGEEDA.  Silence,  witch-pack!  to  your  places,  or  I  shall 
teach  you !  If  I  receive  company,  what  is  that  to  you  ?  If 
ye  hold  not  your  ungovernable  tongues,  I  will  turn  you  into 
stones — as  I  once  did  with  some  of  you — and  you  shall  have 
to  lick  up  the  rain.  Back  into  your  caves,  I  say  !  Intoxicate 
yourselves  with  the  substantial  poison-fumes,  and  sleep  in 
peace  till  I  need  you.  Only  my  choice  attendants  shall  re- 
main near  me.    Out  of  the  way,  bantlings  ! 

[^The  Imps  heing  terrified  away,  four  Shadow-shapes  of  a 
wild  aspect  remain  ahout  the  Sorceress.  The  Wolves 
raise  themselves  and  howl.  At  the  same  time  enters 
KuMBA  ivith  a  pale  hut  defying  face.  GtHIMGEEDA 
strikes  with  her  magic  wand  on  thefioor.  The  Wolves 
lie  down,  and  Ktjmba  remains  standing  at  the  entrance 
of  the  Gave. 

G-RiM GERDA.  Silence  there,  presumptuous  child  of  man ! 
I  know  thee. 

KuMBA.  Dost  thou  know  Kumba,  the  bondwoman's  daugh- 
ter ?  My  feet  mayst  thou  chain  down,  but  not  my  will,  my 
tongue. 

GitiM GERDA.  Perhaps  that  too — if  I  wish  it.  But  I  wish 
it  not — now.    Come  nearer.    "Why  art  thou  come  hither  ? 

Kumba.  To  warn  thee,  witch,  to  keep  thy  vow. 

Grimgerda.  What  ?  thou  do^^t  not  speak  civiUy. 

Ktjmba.  Give  me  rest !  Give  me  rest !  Thou  promised 
to  give  me  rest.    But  thou  hast  deceived  me. 


455 


Geimgekda.  Speak  not  so  loudly.  Thou  wiH  waken  my 
iittle  ones  who  sleep. 

KuMBA.  They  sleep  !  It  is  now  long  since  I  ha^e  slept  at 
aU! 

G-EiMGEB-DA.  What  dost  thou  want  ? 

KuMBA.  Everything.  O  Grrimgerda!  if  thou  hast  a 
human  hearc  in  thy  bosom,  then  conceive  my  distress,  and 
help  me.  The  strength  which  thou  gavest  me  is  gone.  The 
tranquillity  which  I  felt  at  one  time  is  gone ;  an  anguish  con- 
sumes me,  more  tormenting,  more  horrible,  than  that  which 
I  experienced  before  my  crimes.  The  liglit  of  the  sun  ter- 
rifies me ;  the  murmur  of  the  trees  makes  me  tremble  ;  no 
sleep  rests  on  my  eyelids ;  no  tear  refreshes  them ;  and  I 
cannot  look  upon  her  whom  I  have  murdered,  upon  her  whc 
now  wears  away  patiently  in  despair,  without  feeling  my 
heart  transpierced  as  with  a  poisoned  dart.  The  dart  is 
called — remorse.  Bemorse  drives  me  to  thee  to-day.  I  w^ill 
have  my  crime  undone.  Grrimgerda !  tliou  who  gavest  the 
disease,  knowest  also  the  antidote.  I  entreat  thee  for  a 
means  to  counteract  the  poison  which  kills  the  daughter  of 
kings,  the  means  to  restore  her  again  to  life. 

Gkimgeeda.  Doth  the  arrow,  once  discharged,  stop  and 
turn  back  in  its  fliglit  ?  Ask  the  stream  to  flow  back  to  its 
source ;  the  ridge  of  rocks  to  bend  itself  according  to  the 
changing  current  of  the  wind. !  roolish  mortal !  That 
which  is  done  cannot  be  undone  ;  and  a  strong  spirit  denies 
not  its  own  work. 

KuMBA.  Thou  canst  not. 

Grimgerda.  Cannot,  because  I  will  not ;  will  not,  be- 
cause Jernskog's  daughter  cannot  vacillate  and  repent. 

KuMBA.  Can  gold  purchase  salvation  for  the  daughter  of 
kings  ? 

Grimgerda.  I  love  gold ;  but  I  will  not  deceive  thee< 
Gold  and  treasure  cannot  save  her.    She  must  die. 

KuMBA.  It  is  determined  then.    She  must  die,  and  I  

I  am  miserable  ! 

Grimgerda.  Poor  child ! 

KuMBA.  Dost  thou  pity  me  ?  Thou  understandest  me 
then:  and  there  lives  a  heart  in  thy  bosom.  O  Grimgerda! 
be  good  to  me !  I  have  suffered  so  much !  Hast  thou,  too, 
suffered  ?  Knowest  thou  the  sorrow  which  devours  the  heai-t  ? 


456 


GrRiMGEBDA.  I  understand  thee,  and — it  grieves  me  for 
thee.  Here,  my  child,  eat  and  strengthen  thyself.  Thenwa 
will  talk  further. 

KuMBA.  No,  no  !    I  cannot  eat. 

Grimgekda.  Such  good  is  not  often  offered.  It  gives 
clearness  and  learning  iu  a  variety  of  ways. 

KuMBA.  Grive  me  peace  !  Grive  me  a  draught  out  of  the 
cup  of  forgetfulness. 

GrRiMaERDA.  The  dead  only  drink  that. 

KuMBA.  Give  me  death  then !  Let  one  of  thy  serpents 
sting  me. 

Grim  aE  ED  A.  Serpents  do  not  sting  their  like. 

KuMBA.  Thy  words,  Grimgerda,  sting  all  the  more.  But 
I  will  forgive  thee  all,  if  thou  wilt  but  give  me  death  and 
forgetfulness, — eternal,  if  possible. 

Grimgerda.  They  only,  who  have  not  done  something  on 
earth  memorable,  something  great,  in  good  or  in  evil,  can  in 
death  taste  of  the  cup  of  oblivion. 

KuMBA.  Woe  is  me !  The  draught  is  not  for  me  then. 
Listen  !  There  is  a  sleep,  a  trance,  between  life  and  death, 
in  which  man  feels  neither  snow  nor  rain,  neither  day  nor 
the  heat  of  the  sun  ;  knows  nothing,  feels  nothing,  except  a 
reluctance  to  awake.  Say,  canst  thou  not  plunge  me  into 
that  ? 

Grimgerda.  Thou  desirest  that  which  can  alone  be  the 
lot  of  mighty  spirits.  Kumba,  daughter  of  the  bondwoman, 
thou  art  not  ripe  for  that. 

Kumba.  That,  too,  dost  thou  deny  me  ?  (wildly?)  Well 
then,  witch !  discharge  thy  vow  in  another  manner.  I 
bought  it  dearly,  and  will  not  have  done  it  for  nothing.  Thou 
promised  my  soul  rest,  and  thou  shalt  keep  thy  promise,  or  I 
swear  by  Nastrand  .... 

Grimgerda.  Silence,  wretched  slave!  Darest  thou  to 
menace  me?  Abase  thyself!  Creep  like  a  worm  in  the 
dust  at  my  feet,  or  thou  slialt  ride  on  the  wolf,  and  be  stung 
by  serpents.  Fall  down  this  instant,  and  beg  pardon,  or  .  .  . 

Kumba.  Or  what  ?  Dost  thou  think  that  thou  canst 
frighten  me,  Grimgerda  ?  The  pure  light  of  the  sun  can 
terrify  me,  and  the  wliispering  of  spirits  in  the  wood  can  make 
tne  tremble  ;  but  thee — thee  1  fear  not !  Show  me  the  torture 
which  thou  hast  in  thy  power  that  is  o^rcater  than  mat  whic^i 


457 


I  ab  eady  know.  Let  thy  wolves  tear  me  to  pieces.  I  will 
laugh  at  it.  But  in  the  hour  itself  of  my  death,  dread 
thou  me,  Glrimgerda!  It  is  not  equal  between  us.  What 
have  I  to  lose,  to  fear  ?  JN'othing !  But  thou,  witch,  canst 
lo-se  thy  power  and  thy  wealth.  Tremble  then !  for  I  feel  in 
my  suffering  heart  a  power  which  is  greater  than  thine  ! 
Tremble,  at  the  curse  which  in  the  hour  of  death  shall  issue 
from  my  pallid  lips — tremble  ! 

GiiiM(^iim>A  (aside).  Ha!  Strength!  strength!  G-reat 
strength !    Grood  ;  thou  shalt  serve  a  still  greater  cunning. 

[Aloud. 

Kumba!  To  what  purpose  this  childish  insolence  and 
defiance  ?  Why  wilt  thou  provoke  only  an  increase  of  tliy 
misery  ?  Be  quiet,  be  obedient,  and  I  both  can  and  will 
keep  thee. 

Kumba.  Ah,  say  how !  Pardon  my  defiance,  O  Grim- 
gerda.    I  am  still  and  obedient.    Speak,  speak ! 

GiiiMGEEDA.  All  the  torments  of  thy  soul  proceed  from 
this,  that  thou  standest  on  the  half-way.  The  escape  from 
thy  misery  is  called  completion  ! 

XuMBA.  Speak  more  plainly. 

G-EiMGERDA.  Enter  fully  and  for  ever  into  my  service. 
The  first  matter  which  I  will  give  thee  to  complete  shall  be 
the  ratification  of  our  compact. 

Kumba.  And  what  shall  be  my  reward  ? 

G-RiMGEBDA.  Thou  shall  acquire  great  power  already  in 
this  life.  After  death,  I  will  awake  thee,  and  doubly  great 
power  shall  be  given  thee  to  injure  the  great  on  the  earth, 
for  no  power  exceeds  that  of  the  departed  spirit.  Thou  shalt 
become  r^s  one  of  mine  own,  as  one  of  the  mighty  Disor 
which  thou  hast  seen  around  me. 

Kumba.  Have  they  peace  ? 

Geimgerda.  Observe  them. 

Kumba.  I  see  no  pain  in  their  features.  There  seems  to 
play  over  their  sallow  lips  a  smile  ;  but  it  is  not  glad.  The 
countenances  of  some  appear  restless,  and  yet  on  the  point 
of  being  changed  into  stone. 

Grimgerda.  Thou  seest  them  now  in  their  twilight  cos- 
tumes, in  their  night  mantles,  in  which  they  recently  made  a 
journey  into  the  world  ot  men.  But  they  do  not  always 
appear  thus  dim.    When  I  will  it,  they  glitter  in  their  h^li- 


458 


duy  attire,  and  at  my  beck  a  splendour  surrounds  them  wliicli 
surpasses  that  of  the  temple  of  Upsala.    See  for  thyself. 

\_The  Sorceress  ivaves  a  wand,  and  the  Cave  all  over  a/p^ 
'pears  as  heaming  with  gold.    The  Witch  and  the  Disor 
are  seen  in  splendid  dresses,  and  with  jewelled  crowns 
on  their  heads.    After  a  pause,  GrRiMaEEDA  speaks. 
Now,  what  thinkest  thou  ? 

Ktjmba.  That  is  grand !  (aside?)  But  they  are  none  the 
Handsomer  for  it. 

GrRiMaERDA.  "What  say  est  thou  ? 
Ktjmba.  I  say  that  is  grand ! 

G-RiMaEEDA.  Yes,  I  think  so.  The  like  shall  not  be  seen 
in  the  dwelling  of  the  most  ostentatious  Jarl. 

\_She  makes  another  sign  with  the  staffs  and  the  splendour 
disappears. 

Kttmba.  But  it  seemed  to  me  that  the  gold  was  red  as 
glowing  fire,  and  that  I  saw  lizards  and  spiders  running 
about  amongst  the  precious  stones. 

GrEiMGEBDA.  That  is  because  thou  art  unaccustomed  to 
such  pomp  ;  and  therefore  it  causes,  as  it  were,  spiders'  webs 
before  thy  eyes.  But  not  only  splendour  and  affluence  are 
here  offered  by  us,  but  joy  too ;  and  thou  mayst  well  believe 
that  it  goes  often  right  merrily  here.  Here  one  knows 
neither  anguish  nor  remorse.  Here  we  eat  and  drink  well, 
— sleep  when  we  will ;  and  between  whiles,  dance  and  frisk 
to  our  hearts'  content.    Thou  shalt  have  a  specimen. 

[GrRiMGERDA  hlows  a  hom.    The  Cave  see7ns  at  once  to 
become  alive.    Black-JElves,  Dwarfs,  and  Spirits  swarm 
forth,  and  riot  ahout  in  a  wild  dance. 
KuMBA  {aside).  Afgrund's  music  to  Afgrund's  dance.  Is 
this  joy  ?    No,  it  is  frenzy  ! 

(Aloud  to  the  Imps,  that  icill  drag  her  into  the  dance.) 
Away  from  me,  ye  wild  beasts  !  ye  foiil  hobgoblins  !  I 
have  no  desire  for  your  joy.    Grrimgerda,  let  the  tasteless 
dance  have  an  end.    It  is  irksome. 

Gbimgerba.  It  is  not  so  easy  to  compel  them  to  cease 
when  they  are  become  well  heated  in  the  dance.  Cold  water 
mast  then  be  had  recourse  to. 

\_She  strikes  with  the  witch-wand  on  the  rocks.  Streams 
of  water  spring  forth  upon  the  dancing  goblins,  who  fly, 
hon^ling  and  hurrying,  terrified  into  their  dens*  Th6 
Witch  laugf*^. 


TEALINNAN. 


459 


Gkimgekda.  This  merriment  moves  thee  not,  becauso 
thou  art  unused  to  it.  But  ask  my  imps  whether  they  think 
the  dance  tedious.  When  thou  hast  been  some  time  with 
us,  thou  wilt  find  it  as  delightful  as  they  do. 

KuMBA  {sighs). 

GkimgekijA.  Well,  bondmaiden,  has  thou  a  desire  to  be- 
come free  in  my  service  ? 

KuMBA  (indignantly).  Like  one  of  these  ? 

GrRiMGERDA.  No,  freer.  Listen,  Kumba.  I  mean  well 
by  thee,  and  have  something  great  in  store  for  thee.  I  have 
discovered  in  thee  a  higher  power  than  exists  in  all  those  who 
are  about  me,  a  power  worthy  of  mine.  I  will  give  thee  a 
commission,  which  an  ordinary  spirit  could  not  accomplish. 
If  thou  executest  it  according  to  my  instructions,  the  tor- 
ment in  thy  bosom  shall  not  only  cease  for  ever,  but  I  will 
regard  thee  as  my  daughter.  Thou  shalt  partake  of  my 
wealtli ;  and  thy  power  to  injure  the  great,  and  to  command 
the  low,  shall  become  like  mine.  Thou  shalt  partake  with  me 
my  dwelling ;  and  when  thou  wilt,  thou  shalt  change  it  into 
a  gorgeous  palace,  and  adorn  thyself  with  .... 

Kumba.  Let  us  make  the  business  short.  At  what  price 
wilt  thou  have       soul  ? 

GriiiMGERDA.  Listen!  and  observe  well  my  words.  In  the 
strongly-fortified  castle,  on  the  other  side  of  the  water,  dwells 
a  Jarl,  named  Harald  Sigurdson  

Kumba.  I  know  him.  A  handsome,  and  a  brave  man,  and 
a  friend  of  King  Dag. 

GrRiMGERDA.  I  hate  him  ;  but  still  more  fiercely  do  I  hate 
his  wife,  the  proud  Herborg. 

Kumba.  Very  well. 

G-EiMGERDA.  They  have  a  child — a  boy  of  three  years  old. 
His  parents'  greatest  delight. 

Kumba.  That  beautiful  child  I  have  carried  in  my  arras  ! 
Grimgerda.  ThoLi  shalt  kill  that  child. 
Kumba.  I  ?  A  little  child  ? 

Geimgerda.  And  before  its  heart' s-blood  cools,  thou  shalt 
— drink  it. 

Kumba.  Detestable! 

Geimgerda.  That  only  can  for  ever  take  away  thy  soul's 
sickness. 

Kumba,  No,  no !    I  cannot  do  it. 


460 


GrBiMaERDA  By  this  means  only  canst  thou  acquire  my 
friendship,  and  participate  in  my  affluence  and  my  power ;  by 
this  alone  can  the  bondwoman's  daughter  become  a  free  and 
mighty  being. 

KuMBA.  &reat  gods  preserve  me ! 

GrEiMGERDA.  Dost  thou  imagine  that  the  gods  will  trouble 
themselves  about  thee  ?  But  I  understand  thy  remorse, 
Kumba.  Nature  shudders  at  extraordinary  deeds ;  but  it  is 
precisely  this  which  separates  the  strong  from  the  despicable 
spirit, — the  power  to  conquer  the  weakness  of  nature. 

KiJMBA..  Short  and  good,  I  will  not  do  it !  Do  with  me 
what  thou  wilt — I  do  it  not ! 

G-RiMGEEDA.  Do  it  uot  ?  Do  it  not  ?  We  will  see  that ! 
Thou  shalt,  thou  must,  thou  shalt !  Thou  goest  not  hence 
alive,  if  thou  refusest  to  do  it. 

Kumba.  Let  thy  wolves  rend  me  to  pieces, — I  will  not  do 
it.  My  hate,  impelled  by  wild  passions,  I  could  seek  to  gra- 
tify ;  but  an  innocent  child,  which  never  offended  me — no ! 
so  fallen  I  am  not.  Thanks,  Grrimgerda,  that  thou  restorest 
my  strength.  I  can  now,  miserable  as  I  ain,  detest  and 
despise  thy  treasures. 

G-RlMaERDA.  Art  thou  proud  of  thy  cowardice  ?  Offspring 
of  wretches,  go !  Thou  art  not  worthy  to  be  near  the  sor- 
ceress.   Gro,  paltry  one,  and  remain  the  slave  of  the  Jarls. 

Kumba.  Better  that,  than  to  be  like  thee. 

G-RiMaERDA.  Wretch !  dost  thou  exalt  thyself  above  me  ? 
Miserable,  cowardly  murderess  !  who  hast  not  the  strength  to 
resist  evil,  hast  not  the  courage  to  be  strong  in  crime.  Con- 
temptible slave,  begone  !  My  wolves  would  loathe  thy  spongy 
carcase !  Go !  but  bear  with  thee  the  curse  which  I  an- 
nounce to  thee — "  Thou  shalt  neither  find  rest  here,  nor  here- 
after !  Vacillating,  dizzy,  wavering,  thou  shalt  wander  about 
from  morrow  to  morrow,  and  wear  away  thy  life  in  anguish. 
Thou  shalt  wither  as  the  thistle  withers  in  the  narrow  clefts 
of  the  rocks.  Thou  shalt  faint  in  the  desert  like  the  hunted 
wolf,  and  tlie  sons  of  lamentation  shall  extend  to  thee  a  bitter 
drink  of  the  poisonous  tears  of  regret.  After  death  shall  thy 
dastard  soul  reside  amid  the  fog  in  the  marshes  of  the  corpse- 
coast,  and  in  vain  shalt  thou  attempt  to  lift  thyself  out  of  it 
to  the  high  land.  In  vain  shalt  thou  stretch  forth  thy  shadowy 
arms  to  embrace  a  creature  that  can  love  thee.    Alone  and 


TEALINNAIS". 


461 


niiserable,  sbalt  thou  be  tossed  about  by  the  wind,  and  seek 
earth's  abodes  only  to  terrify  the  innocent  child  which  losea 
itself  in  thy  neighbourhood ;  and  thy  Life  and  thy  being  shall 
be — unblessedness 

KuMBA  (coldly).  Thou  tellest  only  what  I  already  know. 
Hast  thou  no  better  curse,  witch  ? 

GrEiMaERDA.  Tes,  I  have  ;  and  tbougb  it  costs  me  dear,  it 
shall  be  pronounced — to  crush  thee.  Know  then,  Kumba, 
that  there  is  one  who  could  save  thee ;  who  could  give  thee 
rest  here  on  the  earth,  and  after  death  bear  up  thy  spirit  to 
a  glorious  lot  in  the  everlasting  light — yes  ;  if  thou  hadst 
sacrificed  to  him  thy  presumption,  thy  revenge,  thy  hate,  as 
he  desired  of  thee.  But  against  bim  hast  thou  raved ;  the 
deliverer  hast  thou  cast  from  thee,  and  eternally  hereafter 
shall  his  shape  haunt  thee,  punishing  and  avenging  Be- 
hold him,  and  tremble ! 

[GrRiMGEEDA  waves  Tier  magic  wand,  and  pronounces  the 
following  words  with  great  exertion  and  with  averted 
face. 

Thou  whom  I  saw  with  the  pale  Hel !  Thou  whose  coun- 
tenance I  cannot  endure  to  behold  !  White  god  without 

spot,  without  malice  !  Darling  of  the  creator  !  Balder  the 
good  !  Thee  do  I  evoke  to  the  circle  of  the  earth  !  Thee  do 
I  call  in  the  might  of  the  powers  of  Afgrund  to  appear  upon 
this  spot,  in  order  to  avenge  thyself !    In  the  awful  name  of 

the  eternal  justice  

\_A  hright  light  fills  the  lottom  of  the  Cave,  In  the  midst 
of  it  appears  the  beautiful  shape  of  a  youth,  full  of 
majesty  and  mildness,  who  fixes  on  Ktjmea  a  severe 
and  painful  looh.  GtEIMGEEDA  re^^zam^  standing,  hut 
tvith  averted  head,  as  if  turned  to  stone.  Kumba  gives 
a  piercing  shriek  of  inexpressihle  agony,  and  falls  with 
outstretched  arms  on  the  earth.  The  scene  vanishes  ; 
all  becomes  dark  again,  and  a  shrill  laugh  of  mockery 
is  raised  hy  the  Goblins  who  come  into  active  motion. 

Scene  VII. — Eeid  reclines  in  a  half  sitting  posture  on  a 
splendid  Couch  near  the  window.  Kumba  stands  at  her 
feet  and  contemplates  her.    The  sun  is  going  down. 

Frid.  Soon — soon  will  all  be  over !  Soon  shall  T  journey 
to  the  second  light.    For  the  last  time  do  I  bow  my  head 


4G2 


before  thee,  O  earth's  glorious  sun !  Thanks  that  thou  yet 
a  while  wilt  w^arm  my  bosom  with  thy  beams.  Thanks  foi 
this  last  friendly  caress.  I  see,  but  I  feel  it  not.  My  life's 
sun  also  goes  down,  but  the  peace  of  even  has  descended  on 
my  heart,  and  I  feel  it — it  is  beautiful  to  die  !  Ah  !  even  in 
death  my  dim  gaze  turns  towards  the  sea,  and  looks  earnestly 
for  the  sail  of  the  beloved,  and  calls  him  hence.  But  when 
he  comes,  he  will  no  more  find  his  bride.  She  has  gone  away, 
but  merely  the  better  to  follow  and  serve  him.  My  soul  is 
reconciled  to  death. 

KuMB A  (aside) .  That  which  stirs  within  me  no  mortal  can 
comprehend. 

Ekid.  Yes,  my  spirit  is  reconciled  ;  all  murmuring,  all 
complaint,  is  departed.  Mine  eye,  indeed,  is  dim  ;  but  one 
thing  is  yet  clear  and  certain  to  me — death  will  not  destroy 
my  love,  wall  not  separate  me  from  the  beloved.  See,  there 
shines  already  in  the  cloud  Asabron,  surrounded  by  the  roar- 
ings of  the  heavenly  water.  Welcome  to  me,  O  sign  of  the 
favour  of  the  gods,  which  shows  me  the  way  that  I  shall 
travel.  I  come  quickly !  All-Father !  I  am  ready,  for  I 
am  at  peace  with  heaven,  at  peace  with  the  earth ! 

Ktjmba  (aside).  How  bright  she  grows!  How  I  blacken! 
Woe!  I  hate  her  no  longer.  Hate  has  turned  its  point 
against  myself. 

Frid.  Kumba  !  My  faithful  attendant !  Thanks  for  the 
affection  thou  hast  shown  me  on  earth.  Take  this  costly 
jewel  in  remembrance  of  me.  Be  free,  Kumba ;  be  rich  and 
happy! 

Kumba.  Daughter  of  kings,  I  desire  only  one  thing  of  thee. 
Frid.  And  what  ? 

Kumba.  Thy  hatred.  Know  that  thou  diest  by  my  hand ; 
by  the  poison  received  from  the  bondmaiden.  Know  that 
she,  like  a  snake,  bit  fast  into  thy  heart,  and  sucked  pleasure 
from  thy  torments  ;  know  that  she  long  hated  thee  .... 

Frid.  Almighty  gods  !    Thou,  Kumba  ?    Ah,  wherefore  ? 

Kumba.  For  thy  happiness  ;  for  thy  beauty  ;  for  thy  union 
with  King  Dag,  whom  I  love;  for  the  injustice  of  the  gods, 
who  gave  thee  all,  and  me  nothing ;  for  the  pangs  which  envy 
and  jealousy  occasioned  me !  For  all  this  have  I  hated  thee, 
and  taken  revenge. 

Frfd.  O  Kumba!  Kumba!  Thou  couldat  think  thus  of 
me  J  and  I  held  ihee  so  dear,  and  put  such  trust  iji  thee. 


463 


KuMBA.  I  have  deceived  thee.  This  hand  has  murdered 
thee.    Abhor  me  ;  hate  me  ! 

Erid.  I  sink  into  the  All-Father's  embrace.  Thy  hand 
gave  me  poison ;  but  a  higher  hand  has  sealed  my  doom.  I 
have  gained  by  it,  for  I  know  that  life  and  love  will  continue 
beyond  death.  For  myself  I  complain  no  more,  but  for  thee 
my  soul  sorroweth.    Before  I  go,  take  my  forgiveness. 

Ktjmba.  Canst  thou  forgive  me  ? 

Frid.  O  Kumba,  hate  not ;  I  cannot  hate,  and  therefore 
has  my  soul  peace  ;  but  bitterness  only  is  a  torment  in  death. 
Thou  hast  not  done  me  much  wrong,  Kumba !  Thy  mind 
was  exasperated, — I  understand  it  now.  Pardon  me,  that 
in  thy  presence  I  was  so  happy,  and  did  not  notice  thy 
suffering  !  Nay, — gaze  not  so  wildly  upon  me  ; — give  me 
thy  hand.  Let  a  tear  of  reconciliation  moisten  thine  eye. 
Thou  wert  unhappy.    That  was  the  fault. 

Ktjmba  (aside).  Exists  goodness  so  great,  love  so  un- 
bounded ?  Woe  is  me  !  What  have  I  done  ?  My  heart  will 
burst! 

Erid.  Thy  lips  move  wildly,  but  I  hear  no  sound.  Dost 
thou  remember,  Kumba,  the  years  of  our  childhood  ?  "JRe- 
memberest  thou,  Avhen  thou  first  came  to  me  wounded,  mis- 
handled. These  hands  healed  thy  wounds,  these  eyes  wept 
over  thee.  I  loved  thee  at  that  moment,  and  I  have  loved 
thee  ever  since, — and  now  my  spirit  cannot  depart  in  peace 
if  thou  hatest  me.  A  stern  power  of  witchcraft  must  have 
bound  up  thy  heart.  But  thou  shalt  not  thus  harden  thyself. 
Come  nearer,  Kumba,  I  will  yet  once  more  weep  over  thee. 

Kumba.  Thou  has  transpierced  me !  .  .  .  .  Behold  me  at 
thy  feet.  Hear  my  last  prayer ! 

Erid.  My  Kumba  !  speak. 

Kumba.  Let  me  die  with  thee.  Let  the  same  pile  which 
sends  thy  soul  on  high,  bear  also  to  the  other  world  that  of 
thy  guilty  servant.  In  the  realm  of  shadows  I  will  sla\'e 
for  thee. 

Erid.  Eollow  me  in  death.  The  God  of  gods  will  then 
determine  our  fate.  Perhaps  in  a  higher  light,  the  daugliter 
of  kings  and  the  bondmaiden  are  merely  empty  names.  Let 
thy  soul  cling  to  mine  ;  never  was  it  nearer  to  me.  We  will 
both  watch  over  him,  whom  we  both  loved. 

Kumba.  O  these  tears!  they  are  a  transport.  Let  mo 
bathe  thy  hand  with  them. 


464 


!FiiiD.  Bathe  my  hand  with  them ;  they  warm  my  heart. 

0  look  out  on  the  sea,  Kumba ! 
KuMBA.  Grods  !  it  is  he ! 

Peid.  He  comes  !   Me  thought  that  was  his  white  flag  .  . 
my  eyes  are  dim.    He  comes ! 

Kumba.  Thou  wilt  not  see  him !  Thou  diest !  O  thou 
must,  must  hate  me  ! 

Teid.  No  ....  I  forgive  thee.    Eorgive  thyself! 

Ktjmba,  Now !  thou  diest ! 

Frid  (with  arms  extended  towards  the  sea).  I  go  ....  to 
the  second  light !  Thou,  O  my  Dag,  never  shall  I  see  thee 
again!  \_ She  dies. 

Kumba.  Dead?  Yes,  dead !  It  is  over!  I  will  die  also. 
Powers  of  vengeance,  your  judgment  is  upon  me.  She  par- 
doned me,  but  can  you  pardon  ?  In  your  hands  I  leave  my 
guilty  soul.  IMighty  Thor,  accept  the  offering  ;  and  if  with 
wild  wings  thou  pursue  round  the  earth  my  peace-abandoned 
soul,  I  will  not  sigh,  I  will  not  complain  !  I  have  deserved 
it.  But  one  day — I  know  it — comes  a  greater  than  thou  !  . . .  . 
Will  he  take  compassion  on  me  ?  Will  he  permit  the  re- 
pentant spirit  to  find  a  quiet  shore  ?   O,  can  there  be 

pardon  ?  can  there  be  atonement  ? 

\_Ske  sinks  down  at  the  foot  of  Teid's  hed. 

LOW  AND  DISTANT  CHORUS  OF  SPIRITS  OF  LIGHT. 

From  the  depths,  and 
From  the  heights,  will 
There  be  heard  a  voice, 
That  to  captive  and  to  mourner 
Shall  proclaim — "  Rejoice !" 

Dumb  shall  grow  each 
Elfin  chorus, 

But  in  heaven's  acclaim — 
Loftier  spirits 
Shall  adore  the 
World-Redeemer's  name. 


THE  EI^D. 


WkbW.   FEINTED  BY  WILLIAM  CLOWES  AND  SONS,  LIMITED,  STAMFOBD  STItl^JW 
A£iD  CUAIUNO  CliOSS. 


AN 

ALPHABETICAL  LIST 

OF  BOOKS  CONTAINED  IN 

BOHN'S  LIBRARIES." 


Detailed  Catalogue^  arranged  according  to  the  various 
Libraries^  will  be  sent  on  application. 


ADDISON'S  Works.  With  the 
Notes  of  Bishop  Hurd,  Portrait, 
and  8  Plates  of  Medals  and  Coins. 
Edited  by  H.  G.  Bohn.  6  vols. 
3 J".  6d.  each. 

iESOHYLUS,  The  Dramas  of. 

Translated  into  English  Verse  by 
Anna  Swanwick.  4th  Edition, 
revised.  5^. 

  The  Tragedies  of.  Trans- 
lated into  Prose  by  T.  A.  Buckley, 
B.A.    3^.  6d, 

ALLEN'S  (Joseph,  R.  N.)  Battles 
of  the  British  Navy.  Revised 
Edition,  with  57  Steel  Engravings. 
2  vols.    5j.  each. 

AMMIANUS  MAROELLINUS. 
History  of  Rome  during  the 
Reigns  of  Constantius,  Julian, 
Tovianus,  Valentinian ,  and  Valens. 
Translated  by  Prof.  C.  D.  Yonge, 
M.A.    7 J.  dd, 

ANDERSEN'S  Danish  Legends 
and  Fairy  Tales.  Translated 
by  Caroline  Peachey.  With  120 
Wood  Engravings.  5^. 

ANTONINUS  (M.  AureUua),  The 
Thoughts  of.    Trans,  literally, 


with  Notes  and  Introduction  by 
George  Long,  M.A.    3^.  6d, 

APOLLONIUS  RHODIUS, 

'The  Argonautioa.'  Translated 
by  E.  P.  Coleridge,  B.A.  55-. 

APPIAN'S    Roman  History. 

Translated  by  Horace  White, 
M.A.,  LL.D.  With  Maps  and 
Illustrations.    2  vols.    6j.  each. 

APULEIUS,    The  Works  of 

Comprising  the  .Golden  Ass,  God 
of  Socrates,  Florida,  and  Dis- 
course of  Magic.  5j. 

ARIOSTO'S    Orlando  Fiirloso. 

Translated  into  English  Verse  by 
W.  S.  Rose.  With  Portrait,  and  2  \ 
Steel  Engravings.  2  vols.  51.  each. 

ARISTOPHANES'  Comedies. 
Translated  by  W.  J.  Hlckie.  3 
vols.    5j.  each. 

ARISTOTLE'S  Nlcomaohean 
Ethics.  Translated,  with  Intro- 
duction and  Notes,  by  the  Vener- 
able Archdeacon  Browne. 

  Politics     and  Economics. 

Translated  by  E.  Walford,  M.A., 
with  Introduction  by  Dr.  Gillie?. 
5J. 


2 


ARISTOTLE'S  Metaphy  sios. 
Translated  by  the  Rev.  John  H. 
M*Mahon,  M.A.  55. 

 History  of  Animals.  Trans. 

by  Richard  Cresswell,  M.A.  5^. 

  Organon;  or,  Logical  Trea- 
tises, and  the  Introduction  of 
Porphvry.  Translated  by  the 
Rev.  O.  F.  Owen,  M.A.  2  vols. 
35.  6d.  each. 

 Rhetoric   and  Poetics. 

Trans,  by  T.  Buckley,  B.A.  55. 

ARRIAN'S  Anabasis  of  Alex- 
ander, together  with  the  Indica. 
Translated  by  E.  J.  Chinnock, 
M.A.,  LL.D.  With  Maps  and 
Plans.  55. 

ATHENiEtrS.  The  Deipnoso- 
phists;  or,  the  Banquet  of  the 
Learned.  Trans,  by  Prof.  C.  D. 
Yonge,  M.A.  3  vols.    5^.  each. 

BACON'S  Moral  and  Historical 
Works,  including  the  Essays, 
Apophthegms,  Wisdom  of  the 
Ancients,  New  Atlantis,  Henry 
VII.,  Plenry  VIII.,  Elizabeth, 
Henry  Prince  of  Wales,  History 
of  Great  Britain,  Julius  Csesar, 
'ind  Augustus  Caesar.  Edited  by 
J.  Devey,  M.A.    3^.  6d. 

  Novum  Organum  and  Ad- 
vancement of  Learning.  Edited 
by  J.  Devey,  M.A.  5^. 

BASS'S  Lexicon  to  the  Greek 
Testament  2j, 

BAX'S  Manual  of  the  History 
of  Philosophy,  for  the  use  of 
Students.  By  E.  Belfort  Bax.  51. 

BEAUMONT  and  FLETCHER, 

their  finest  Scenes,  Lyrics,  and 
other  Beauties,  r.elected  from  the 
whole  of  their  works,  and  edited 
by  Leigh  Hunt.    31.  6d. 


BEOHSTEIN'S  Cage  and 
Chamber  Birds,  their  Natural 
History,  Habits,  Food,  Diseases, 
and  Modes  of  Capture.  Translated, 
with  considerable  additions  on 
Structure,  Migration,  and  Eco- 
nomy, by  H.  G.  Adams.  Together 
with  Sweet  British  Warblers. 
With  43  coloured  Plates  and 
Woodcut  Illustrations.  5^. 

BEDE'S  (Venerable)  Ecolesias- 
tical  History  of  England.  To- 
gether with  the  Anglo-Saxon 
Chronicle.  Edited  by  J.  A. 
Giles,  D.  C.  L.    With  Map.  $s, 

BELL  (Sir  Charles).  The  Ana- 
tomy and  Philosophy  of  Ex- 
pression, as  connected  with 
the  Fine  Arts.  By  Sir  Charles 
Bell,  K.H.    7th  edition,  revised. 

BERKELEY  (George),  Bishop 
of  Cloyne,  The  Works  of. 
Edited  by  George  Sampson.  With 
Biographical  Introduction  by  the 
Right  Hon.  A.  J.  Balfour,  M.P. 
3  vols.    5^.  each. 

BION.   See  Theocritus. 

BJORNSON'S  Ame  and  the 
Fisher  Lassie.  Translated  by 
W.  H.  Low,  M.A.    3x.  6d, 

BLAIR'S  Chronological  Tables 
Revised  and  Enlarged.  Compre- 
hending the  Chronology  and  His- 
tory of  the  World,from  the  Earliest 
Times  to  the  Russian  Treaty  of 
Peace,  April  1856.  By  J.  Wil- 
loughbjr  Rosse.    Double  vol.  los. 

  Indez  of  Dates.  Com- 
prehending the  principal  Facts  in 
the  Chronology  and  History  of 
the  World,  alphabetically  ar- 
ranged ;  being  a  complete  Index 
to  Blair's  Chronological  Tables. 
By  J.  W.  Rosse.  2  vols.  5j.  each. 


3 


BLEEK,  Introduction  to  the 
Old  Testament.  By  Friedrich 
Bleek.  Edited  by  Johann  Bleek 
and  Adolf  Kamphausen.  Trans- 
lated by  G.  H.  Venables,  under 
the  supervision  of  the  Rev.  Canon 
Venables.    2  vols.    5^.  each. 

BOETHIXJS'S  Consolation  of 
Philosophy.  KingAlfred'sAnglo- 
Saxon  Version  of.  With  a  literal 
English  Translation  on  opposite 
pages,  Notes,  Introduction,  and 
Glossary,  by  Rev.  S.  Fox,  M.A. 

BOHN'S  Dictionary  of  Poetical 
Quotations.   4th  edition.  6j. 

BOHN'S  Handbooks  of  Games. 
New  edition.  In  2  vols.,  with 
numerous  Illustrations  3J.  6^/. 
each. 

Vol.  I.— Table  Games  Bil- 
liards, Chess,  Draughts.  Back- 
gammon, Dominoes,  Solitaire, 
Reversi,  Go-Bang,  Rouge  et  Noir, 
Roulette,  E.O.,  Hazard,  Faro. 

Vol.  II.  —  Card  Games  :  — 
Whist,  Solo  Whist,  Poker,  Piquet, 
Ecarte,  Euchre,  Bezique,  Crib- 
bage,  Loo,  Vingt-et-un,  Napoleon, 
Newmarket,  Pope  Joan,  Specula- 
tion, &c.,  &c. 

BOND'S  A  Handy  Book  of  Rules 
and  Tables  for  verifying  Dates 
with  the  Christian  Era,  &c.  Giving 
an  account  of  the  Chief  Eras  and 
Systems  used  by  various  Nations  ; 
with  the  easy  Methods  for  deter- 
mining the  Corresponding  Dates. 
By  J.  J.  Bond.  Sj. 

BONOMI'S  Nineveh  and  it« 
Palaces.  7  Plates  and  294  Wood- 
cut Illustrations.  5^. 

BOSWELL'S  Ldfe  of  Johnson, 
with  the  Tour  in  the  Hebrides 
and  JOHNSONIANA.  Edited  by 
the  Rev.  A.  Napier,  M.A.  With 
Frontispiece  to  each  vol.  6  vols. 
3J.  6ci.  each. 


BRAND'S  Popular  Antiquities 
of  England,  Scotland,  and  Ire- 
land. Arranged,  revised,  and 
greatly  enlarged,  by  Sir  Henry 
Ellis,  K.H.,  F.R.S.,  &c.,  &c.  3 
vols.    5^.  each. 

BREMER'S  (Frederika)  Works. 
Translated  by  Mary  Howitt.  4 
vols.    3J.  6d,  each. 

BRIDGWATER  TREATISES. 
Bell  (Sir  Charles)  on  the  Hand, 
With  numerous  Woodcuts.  5J'. 

Kirby  on  the  History,  Habits, 
and  Instincts  of  Animals. 
Edited  by  T.  Rymer  Jones. 
With  upwards  of  100  Woodcuts. 
2  vols.    5^.  each. 

Kidd  on  the  Adaptation  of  Ex- 
ternal Nature  to  the  Physical 
Condition  of  Man.   3^.  6d. 

Chalmers  on  the  Adaptation 
of  External  Nature  to  the 
Moral  and  Intellectual  Con- 
stitution of  Man.  5^. 

BRINK  (B.  ten)  Early  EngUsh 
Literature.  By  Bernhard  ten 
Brink.  Vol.1.  ToWyclif.  Trans- 
lated by  Horace   M.  Kennedy 

Vol.  n.  Wyclif,  Chaucer,  Ear- 
liest Drama  Renaissance.  Trans- 
lated by  W.  Clarke  Robinson, 
Ph.D.    3s.  6d. 

Vol.  HI.  From  the  Fourteenth 
Century  to  the  Death  of  Surrey. 
Edited  by  Dr.  Alois  Brandl. 
Trans,   by    L.    Dora  Schmitz. 

  Five  Lectures  on  Shake- 
speare. Trans,  by  Julia  Franklin. 
3J.  6d. 

BROWNE'S  (Sir  Thomas)  Works 
Edited  by  Simon  Wilkin.  3  vols. 
35-.  6<^.  each. 


4 


An  Alphabetical  List  of  Books 


BURKE'S  Works.  8  vols.  3J.  dd, 
each. 

I. — Vindication  of  Natural  So- 
ciety—Essay on  the  Sub- 
lime and  Beautiful,  and 
various  Political  Miscel- 
lanies. 

II. — Reflections  on  the  French 
Revolution  —  Letters  re- 
lating to  the  Bristol  Elec- 
tion—  Speech  on  Fox's 
East  India  Bill,  &c. 

III. — Appeal  from  the  New  to  the 
Old  Whigs— On  the  Na- 
bob of  Arcot's  Debts — 
The  Catholic  Claims,  &:c. 

IV. — Report  on  the  Affairs  ot 
India,  and  Articles  o! 
Charge  against  Warren 
Hastings. 

V. — Conclusion  of  the  Articles  o< 
Charge  against  V7arren 
Hastings — Political  Let- 
ters on  the  American  War, 
on  a  Regicide  Peace,  to 
the  Empress  of  Russia. 

VI. — Miscellaneous  Speeches  — 
Letters  and  Fragments — 
Abridgments  of  English 
Flistory,  &c.  With  a 
General  Index. 

VII.  &  Vlll.-Speeches  on  the  Im- 
peachment of  Warren 
Hastings ;  and  Letters. 
With  Index.  2  vols. 
3^.  ^d,  each. 

  Life.    By  Sir  J.  Prior.  3^.  6^/. 

BURNEY'S  Evelina.  By  Frances 
Burney  (Mme.  D'Arblay).  With 
an  Introduction  and  Notes  by 
A.  R.  Ellis.    3J.  6^/. 

— -  Cecilia.  With  an  Introduc- 
tion and  Notes  by  A.  R.  Ellis. 
2  vols.    3J.  dd,  each. 


BURN  (R )  Ancient  Rome  and 
its  Neighbourhood.  An  Illus- 
trated Handbook  to  the  Ruins  in 
the  City  and  the  Campagna,  for 
the  use  of  Travellers.  By  Robert 
Burn,  M.A.  With  numerous 
Illustrations,  Maps,  and  Plans. 

BURNS  (Robert),  Life  of.  By 
J.  G.  Lockhart,  D.C.L.  A 
new  and  enlarged  Edition.  Re- 
vised by  William  Scott  Douglas. 
3J.  6^/. 

BURTON'S  (Robert)  Anatomy  of 
Melancholy.  Edited  by  the  Rev. 
A.  R.  Shilleto,  M.A.  With  In- 
troduction  by  A.  H.  Bullen,  and 
full  Index.    3  vols.    3J.  dd.  each. 

BURT  N  (Sir  R.  F.)  Personal 
Narrative  of  a  Pilgrimage  to 
Al-Madinah  and  Meccah  By 
Captain  Sir  Richard  F.  Burton, 
K.C.M.G.  With  an  Introduction 
by  Stanley  Lane- Poole,  and  all 
the  original  Illustrations.  2  vols. 
3J.  dd.  each. 

*^^*  This  is  the  copyright  edi- 
tion, containing  the  author's  latest 
notes. 

BUTLER'S  (Bishop)  Analogy  ox 
Religion,  Natural  and  Revealed, 
to  the  Constitution  and  Course  of 
Nature ;  together  with  two  Dis- 
sertations on  Personal  Identity  and 
on  the  Nature  of  Virtue,  and 
Fifteen  Sermons.    31.  dd. 

BUTLER'S  (Samuel)  Hudlbras. 
With  Variorum  Notes,  a  Bio- 
graphy, Portrait,  and  28  Illus- 
trations. 5^. 

  or,  further  Illustrated  with  60 

Outline  Portraits.  2  vols.  5^.  each. 

C^SAR.  Commentaries  on  the 
Gallic  and  Civil  Wars.  Trans- 
lated by  W.  A.  McDevitte,  B.A. 
51. 


5 


CAMOENS'  Luslad  ;  or,  the  Dis- 
covery of  India.  An  Epic  Poem. 
Translated  by  W.  J.  Mickle.  5th 
Edition,  revised  by  E.  R.  Hodges, 
M.C.P.   3J.  6d. 

OARAFAS  (The)  of  Maddaloni. 
Naples  under  Spanish  Dominion. 
Translated  from  the  German  of 
Alfred  de  Reumont.    3^.  6d, 

OARLYLE'S  French  Revolution. 
Edited  by  J.  Holland  Rose, 
Litt.D.    Illus.   3  vols.    51.  each. 

 Sartor  Resartus.    With  75 

Illustrations  by  Edmund  J.  Sul- 
livan o    5  J. 

CARPENTER'S    (Dr.   W.  B.) 
Zoology.    Revised  Edition,  by 
W.  S.  Dallas,  F.L.S.    With  very 
numerous  Woodcuts.    Vol.  I.  6s, 
[  Vol.  IL  out  of  print. 

CARPENTER'S  Mechanical 
Philosophy,  Astronomy,  and 
Horology.    i8i  Woodcuts.  5^. 

  Vegetable  Physiology  and 

Systematic  Botany.  Revised 
Edition,  by  E.  Lankester,  M.D., 
&c.  With  very  numerous  Wood- 
cuts. 6s. 

  Animal  Physiology.  Revised 

Edition.  With  upwards  of  300 
Woodcuts.  6s, 

CASTLE  (E.)  Schools  and 
Masters  of  Fence,  from  the 
Middle  Ages  to  the  End  of  the 
Eighteenth  Century.  By  Egerton 
Castle,  M.A.,  F.S.A.  With  a 
Complete  Bibliography.  Illus- 
trated with  140  Reproductions  of 
Old  Engravings  and  6  Plates  of 
Swords,  showing  114  Examples. 
6s, 

CATTERMOLE'S  Evenings  at 
Haddon  Hall.  With  24  En- 
gravings on  Steel  from  designs  by 
Cattermole,  the  Letterpress  by  the 
Baroness  de  Carabella.  5i". 


CATULLUS,  Tibullus,  and  the 
Vigil  of  Venus.  A  Literal  Prose 
Translation.  5;*. 

CELLINI  (Benvenuto).  Me- 
moirs of,  written  by  Himself. 
Translated  by  Thomas  Roscoe. 
3J.  6d, 

CERVANTES'  Don  Quixote  de 
la  Mancha.  MoUeaux's  Trans- 
lation revised.  2  vols.  31.  6d. 
each. 

  Galatea.  A  Pastoral  Ro- 
mance. Translated  by  G.  W.  J. 
Gyll.  6d, 

 Exemplary  Novels.  Trans- 
lated by  Walter  K.  Kelly,  6d, 

CHAUCER'S   Poetical  Works. 

Ivlited  by  Robert  Bell.  Revised 
Edition,  wilh  a  Preliminary  Essay 
by  Prof.  W.  W.  Skeat,  M.A.  4 
vols.    3J,  6d,  each. 

CHESS  CONGRESS  of  1862. 
A  Collection  of  the  Games  played. 
Edited  by  J.  Lowenthal.  5^. 

CHEVREUL  on  Colour.  Trans- 
lated from  the  French  by  Charles 
Martel.  Third  Edition,  with 
Plates,  55". ;  or  with  an  additional 
series  of  16  Plates  in  Colours, 
71.  6d, 

CHILLINGWORTH'S  Religion 
of  Protestants.  A  Safe  Way  to 
Salvation.    3^.  6d, 

CHINA,  Pictorial,  Descriptive, 
and  Historical.  With  Map  and 
nearly  100  Illustrations.  5^. 

CHRONICLES  OF  THE  CRU- 
SADES. Contemporary  Narra- 
tives of  the  Crusade  of  Richard 
Coeur  de  Lion,  by  Richard  o! 
Devizes  and  Geoffrey  de  Vinsauf ; 
and  of  the  Crusade  at  St.  Louis, 
by  Lord  John  de  Joinville.  51. 

CICERO'S  Orations.  Translated 
by  Prof.  C.  D.  Yonge,  M.A.  4 
vols.    5j.  each. 


6  An  A  Iphabetical  List  of  Books 


CICERO'S  Letters.  Translated  by 
Evelyn  S.  Shuckburgh.  4  vols. 
5^.  each. 

  On  Oratory  and  Orators. 

With  Letters  to  Quintus  and 
Brutus.  Translated  by  the  Rev. 
J.  S.  Watson,  M.A.  5^. 

  On  the  Nature  of  the  G-ods, 

Divination,  Fate,  Laws,  a  Re- 
public, Consulship.  Translated 
by  Prof.  C.  D.  Yonge,  M.A.,  and 
Francis  Barham.  5^. 

  Academics,  De  Finibus,  and 

Tusculan  Questions.  By  Prof. 
C.  D.  Yonge,  M.A.  5j. 

  Offices  ;   or,  Moral  Duties. 

Cato  Major,  an  Essay  on  Old 
Age ;  Lselius,  an  Essay  on  Friend- 
ship ;  Scipio's  Dream ;  Paradoxes ; 
Letter  to  Quintus  on  Magistrates. 
Translated  by  C.  R.  Edmonds. 

CORNELIUS  NEPOS.— 6-^^ 
Justin. 

CLARK'S  (Hugh)  Litroduotion 
to  Heraldry.  i8th  Edition,  Re- 
vised and  Enlarged  by  J.  R. 
Planch^,  Rouge  Croix.  With 
nearly  1000  Illustrations.  5j.  Or 
with  the  Illustrations  Coloured, 
15^. 

CLASSIC  TALES,  containing 
Rasselas,  Vicar  of  Wakefield, 
Gulliver's  Travels,  and  The  Senti- 
mental Journey.    31.  ^d, 

COLERIDGE'S  (S.  T.)  Friend. 

A  Series  of  Essays  on  Morals, 
Politics,  and  Religion,    y,  6d, 

  Aids  to  Reflection,  and  the 

Confessions  of  an  Inquiring 
Spirit,  to  which  are  added  the 
Essays  on  Faith  and  the  Book 
OF  Common  Prayer.    31.  dd. 

  Lectures   and   Notes  on 

Shakespe£|,re  and  other  English 
Poets.  Edited  by  T.  Ashe.  3^.6^/. 


COLERIDGE'S  Blographla  Lite- 
rarla;  together  with  Two  Lay 
Sermons.    3j.  6d, 

  Table-Talk  and  Omniana.. 

Edited  by  T.  Ashe,  B.A.  6d, 

  Miscellanies,  iEsthetio  and 

Literary;  to  which  is  added, 
The  Theory  of  Life.  Col- 
lected and  arranged  by  T.  Ashe, 
B.A.    3 J.  ed, 

COMTE'S  Positive  Philosophy. 

Translated  and  condensed  by 
Harriet  Martineau.  With  Intro- 
duction by  Frederic  Harrison. 
3  vols.    5j.  each. 

COMTE'S   Philosophy   of  the 

Sciences,  being  an  Exposition  of 
the  Principles  of  the  Cours  de 
Philosopkie  Positive,  By  G.  H. 
Lewes.  5^. 

CONDE  S  History  of  the  Do 
minion  of  the  Arabs  in  Spain. 
Translated  by  Mrs.  Foster.  3 
vols.    3j.  6flf.  each, 

COOPER'S  Biographical  Die- 
tionary.  Containing  Concise 
Notices  (upwards  of  15,000)  of 
Eminent  Persons  of  all  Ages  and 
Countries.  By  Thompson  Cooper, 
F.S.A.  With  a  Supplement, 
bringing  the  work  down  to  1883. 
2  vols.    5j.  each. 

COXE'S  Memoirs  of  the  Duke  of 
Marlborough.  With  his  original 
Correspondence.  By  W.  Coxe, 
M.A.,  F.R.S.  Revised  edition 
by  John  Wade.  3  vols.  3^.  dd, 
each. 

* ^  An  Atlas  of  the  plans  of 
Marlborough's  campaigns,  4to. 
loj.  dd, 

 History  of  the  House  of 

Austria  (12 18-1792).  With  a 
Continuation  from  the  Accession 
of  Francis  I.  to  the  Revolution  of 
1848.    4  vols.    3 J.  dd,  each. 


Contained  in  Bohn^s  Libraries. 


7 


ORAIK'S  (G.  L.)  Pursuit  of  Know- 
ledge under  Diflacultles.  Illus- 
trated by  Anecdotes  and  Memoirs. 
Revised  edition,  with  numerous 
Woodcut  Portraits  and  Plates.  5^. 

CRUIKSHANK'S  Punoh  and 
Judy.  The  Dialogue  of  the 
Puppet  Show  ;  an  Account  of  its 
Origin,  &c.  With  24  Illustra- 
tions, and  Coloured  jplates,  de- 
signed and  engraved  by  G.  Cruik- 
shank,  5j. 

CUNNINGHAM'S  Lives  of  the 
Most  Eminent  British  Painters. 
A  New  Edition,  with  Notes  and 
Sixteen  fresh  Lives.  By  Mrs, 
Heaton.    3  vols.    35.  6^/.  each, 

DANTE.  Divine  Comedy.  Trans- 
lated by  the  Rev*  H.  F.  Gary, 
M.A.    3 J.  ^d, 

 Translated  into  English  Verse 

by  I.  C.  Wright,  M.A.  3rd  Edi- 
tion, revised.  With  Portrait,  and 
34  Illustrations  on  Steel,  after 
Flaxman. 

DANTE.  The  Inferno.  A  Literal 
Prose  Translation,  with  the  Text 
of  the  Original  printed  on  the  same 
page.  By  John  A.  Carlyle,  M.D. 

 The  Purgatorlo.    A  Literal 

Prose  Translation,  with  the  Text 
printed  on  the  same  page.  By 
W.  S.  Dugdale.  5^. 

DE  COMMINES  (Philip),  Me- 
molrs  of.  Containing  the  Histories 
of  Louis  XI.  and  Charles  VIII., 
Kings  of  France,  and  Charles 
the  Bold,  Duke  oi  Burgundy. 
Together  with  the  Scandalous 
Chronicle,  or  Secret  History  of 
Louis  XL,  by  Jean  de  Troyes. 
Translated  by  Andrew  R.  Scoble. 
With  Portraits.  2  vols.  35.  6<i. 
each. 


DEFOE'S  Novels  and  Miscel- 
laneous Works.  With  Prefaces 
and  Notes,  including  those  attri- 
buted to  Sir  W.  Sco.t.  7  vols. 
3^.  (jd,  each. 

I. — Captain  Singleton,  and 
Colonel  Jack. 

II. — Memoirs  of  a  Cavalier, 
Captain  Carkton, 
Dickory  Cronke,  &c. 

III.  — -Moll  Flanders,  and  the 

History  of  the  Devil. 

IV.  — Roxana,  and  Life  of  Mrs, 

Christian  Davies. 

V.  — History  of  the  Great  Plague 
of  London,  1665 ;  The 
Storm  (1703) ;  and  the 
True-born  Englishman. 

VI. — Duncan  Campbell,  New 
Voyage  round  the 
World,  and  Political 
Tracts. 

VII. — Robinson  Crusoe. 

DEMMIN'S  History  of  Arms 
and  Arnaour,  from  the  Earliest 
Period.  By  Auguste  Demmin. 
Translated  by  C.  C.  Black,  M.A. 
With  nearly  2000  Illustrations. 
7j.  dd, 

DEMOSTHENES'  Orations. 

Translated  by  C.  Rann  Kennedy. 
5  vols.  Vol.  I.,  3J.  6^/. ;  Vols. 
II. -V.,  5 J.  each. 

DE  STAEL'S  COrinne  or  Italy. 
By  Madame  de  Stael.  Trans- 
lated by  Emily  Baldwin  and 
Paulina  Driver.    35.  6</. 

DEVEY  S  Logio,  or  the  Science 
of  Inference.  A  Popular  Manual. 
By  J.  Devey.  5^. 

DICTIONARY  of  Latin  and 
Greek  Quotations ;  including 
Proverbs,  Maxims,  Mottoes,  Law 
Terms  and  Phrases.  With  all  the 


8 


An  Alphabetical  List  of  Books 


Quantities  marked,  and  English 
Translations.  With  Index  Ver- 
borum  (622  pages).  5^. 

DICTIONARY  of  Obsolete  and 
Provincial  English.  Compiled 
by  Thomas  Wright,  M.A.,  F.S  A., 
&c.    2  vols.    5^.  each. 

DIDRON'S  Christian  Icono- 
graphy: a  History  of  Christian 
Art  in  the  Middle  Ages.  Trans- 
lated by  E.  J.  Millington  and 
completed  by  Margaret  Stokes. 
With  240  Illustrations.  2  vols. 
5 J-,  each. 

DIOGENES  LAERTIUS.  Lives 
and  Opinions  of  the  Ancient 
Philosophers.  Translated  by 
Prof.  C.  D.  Yonge,  M.A.  5^. 

DOBREE'S  Adversaria.  Edited 
by  the  late  Prof.  Wagner.  2  vols. 
5j.  each. 

D  ODD'S  Epigrammatists.  A 
Selection  from  the  Epigrammatic 
Literature  of  Ancient,  Mediaeval, 
and  Modern  Times.  By  the  Rev, 
Henry  Philip  Dodd,  M.A.  Ox- 
ford. 2nd  Edition,  revised  and 
enlarged.  65". 

DONALDSON'S  The  Theatre  of 
the  Greeks.  A  Treatise  on  the 
History  and  Exhibition  of  the 
Greek  Drama.  With  numerous 
Illustrations  and  3  Plans.  By  John 
William  Donaldson,  D.D.  55. 

DRAPER'S  History  oi  the 
Intellectual  Development  of 
Europe.  By  John  William  Draper, 
M.D.,  LL.D.    2  vols.    Ss,  each. 

DUNLOP'S  History  of  Fiction. 

A  new  Edition.  Revised  by 
Henry  Wilson.   2  vols.   $s.  each. 

DYER'S  History  of  Modern  Eu- 
rope, from  the  Fall  of  Constan- 
tinople. 3rd  edition,  revised  and 
continued  to  the  end  of  the  Nine- 
teenth Century.  By  Arthur  Has- 
sall,  M.A.  6  vols.   31.  GU  each. 


DYER'S  (Dr  T.  H.)  Pompeii :  its 

Buildings  and  Antiquities.  By 
T.  H.  Dyer,  LL.D.  With  nearly 
300  Wood  Engravings,  a  large 
Map,  and  a  Plan  of  the  Forum. 

DYER  (T.  P.  T.)  British  Popular 
Customs,  Present  and  Fast. 
An  Account  of  the  various  Games 
and  Customs  associated  with  Dif- 
ferent Days  of  the  Year  in  the 
British  Isles,  arranged  according 
to  the  Calendar.  By  the  Rev, 
T.  F.  Thiselton  Dyer,  M.A.  5x. 

EBERS'  Egyptian  Princess.  An 
Historical  Novel.  By  George 
Ebers.  Translated  by  E.  S. 
Buchheim.    3J.  6d. 

EDGEWORTH'S  Stories  for 
Children.  With  8  Illustrations 
by  L.  Speed.    3^-.  6d, 

ELZE'S  William  Shakespeare. 
— See  Shakespeare. 

EMERSON'S  Works.     5  vols. 
35.  6d,  each. 

L — Essays  and  Representative 
Men. 

n. — English  Traits,  Nature,  and 
Conduct  of  Life. 
HI. — Society  and  Solitude — Letters 
and   Social    Aims  —  Ad- 
dresses. 
VL — Miscellaneous  Pieces. 
V. — Poems. 

ENNEMOSER'S  History  of 
Magic.  Translated  by  William 
Howitt.    2  vols.    5-^*  each. 

EPIOTETUS,  The  Discourses  of. 

With  the  Encheiridion  and 
Fragments.  Translated  by  George 
Long,  M.A.  5^. 

EURIPIDES.  A  New  Literal 
Translation  in  Prose.  By  E  P. 
Coleridge,  M.A.  2  vols.  each. 


Contained  in  Bohn's  Libraries, 


9 


EUTROPIUS.— ^y^ij  Justin. 

EUSEBIUS  PAMPHILUS, 
Ecolesiastloal  History  of.  Trans- 
lated by  Rev.  C.F.  Cruse,  M.  A.  5j. 

EVELYN'S  Diary  and  Corre- 
spondendence.  Edited  from  the 
Original  MSS.  by  W.  Bray, 
F.A.S.  With  45  engravings.  4 
vols.  5^.  each. 

PAIRHOLT'S  Costume  In  Eng- 
land. A  History  of  Dress  to  the 
end  of  the  Eighteenth  Century. 
3rd  Edition,  revised,  by  Viscount 
Dillon,  V.P.S. A.  Illustrated  with 
above  700  Engravings.  2  vols. 
5 J.  each. 

FIELDING'S  Adventures  01 
Joseph  Andrews  and  his  Friend 
Mr.  Abraham  Adams.  With 
Cruikshank's  Illustrations.  3^.  6t/. 

  History  of  Tom  Jones,  a 

Foundling.  With  Cruikshank's 
Illustrations.  2  vols.  3^.  dd.  each. 

  Amelia.    With  Cruikshank's 

Illustrations.  5^. 

FLAXMAN'S  Lectures  on  Sculp- 
ture. By  John  Flaxman,  R.A. 
With  Portrait  and  53  Plates.  6j. 

FOSTER'S  (John)  Life  and  Cor- 
respondence. Edited  by  J.  E. 
Ryland.    2  vols.    3^.  6^/.  each. 

  Critical  Essays.    Edited  by 

J.  E.  Ryland.  2  vols.  3^.  dd, 
each. 

  Essays  :  on  Decision  of  Cha- 
racter ;  on  a  Man's  writing  Me- 
moirs of  Himself;  on  the  epithet 
Romantic  ;  on  the  aversion  of 
Men  of  Taste  to  Evangelical  Re- 
ligion.   3j.  dd, 

  Essays  on  the  Evils  of  Popular 

Ignorance  ;  to  which  is  added,  a 
Discourse  on  the  Propagation  of 
Christianity  in  India.    3J.  6^/. 


FOSTER'S  Essays  on   the  Im- 
provement of  Time.  With  Notes 
OF  Sermons  and  other  Pieces. 
6d, 

GASPARY'S  History  of  Italian 
Literature.  Translated  by  Her- 
man Oelsner,  M.A.,  Ph.D. 
Vol.  I.    3^.  6d, 

GEOFFREY  OF  MONMOUTH, 

Chronicle  oi.—See  Old  English 
Chronicles, 

GESTA  ROMANORUM,  or  En- 

tertaining  Moral  Stories  invented 
by  the  Monks.  Translated  by  the 
Rev.  Charles  Swan.  Revised 
Edition,  by  Wynnard  Hooper, 
B.A.    5  J. 

GILDAS,  Chronicles  ot—See  Old 
English  Chronicles. 

GIBBON'S  Decline  and  FaU  of 
the  Roman  Empire.  Complete 
and  Unabridged,  with  Variorum 
Notes.  Edited  by  an  English 
Churchman,  With  2  Maps  and 
Portrait.    7  vols.    3^.  6d,  each. 

GILBART'S  History,  Principles, 
and  Practice  of  Banking.  By 
the  late  J.  W.  Gilbart,  F.R.S. 
New  Edition,  revised  by  A.  S. 
Michie.    2  vols.  ioj. 

GIL  BLAS,  The  Adventures  cf. 
Translated  from  the  French  of 
Lesage  by  Smollett.  With  24 
Engravings  on  Steel,  after  Smirke, 
and  10  Etchings  by  George  Cruik- 
shank.  6s, 

GIRALDUS  CAMBRENSIS* 
Historical  Works.  Translated 
by  Th.  Forester,  M.A.,  and  Sir 
R.  Colt  Hoare.  Revised  Edition, 
Edited  by  Thomas  Wright,  M.A., 
F.S.A.    5  J. 

GOETHE'S  Faust.  Part  I.  Ger- 
man Text  with  Hay  ward's  Prose 
Translation  and  Notes.  Revised 
by  C.  A.  Buchheim,  Ph.D.  $s. 


lO 


An  Alphabetical  List  of  Books 


GOETHE'S  Works.  Translated 
into  English  by  various  hands. 
14  vols.    35.  6</.  each. 

I.  and  II.— Poetry  and  Truth 
from  My  Own  Life.  New 
and  revised  edition. 

III.  — Faust.    Two   Parts,  com- 

plete.   (Swan  wick.) 

IV.  — Novels  and  Tales. 

V. — Wilhelm  Meister*s  Appren- 
ticeship. 

VI.-— Conversations  with  Ecker- 
mann  and  Soret. 
VIII.— Dramatic  Works. 
IX. — Wilhelm  Meister's  Travels. 
X. — Tour  in  Italy,  and  Second 
Residence  in  Rome. 
XI. — Miscellaneous  Travels. 
XII. — Early    and  Miscellaneous 
Letters. 

XIV.— Reineke  Fox,  West-Eastern 
Divan  and  Achilleid. 

GOLDSMITH'S  Works.  A  new 
Edition,  by  J.  W.  M.  Gibbs.  5 
vols.    1$,  6d.  each, 

G^IAMMONT'S  Memoirs  of  the 
Court  of  Charles  IL  Edited  by 
Sir  Walter  Scott.  Together  with 
the  BoscOBEL  Tracts,  including 
two  not  before  published,  Ac. 
New  Edition.  5^, 

GRAY'S  Letters.  Including  the 
Correspondence  of  Gray  and 
Mason.  Edited  by  the  Rev. 
D.  C.  Tovey,  M.A.  Vols.  I. 
and  II.  3J.  6d,  each. 

GREEK  ANTHOLOGY.  Trans- 
lated  by  George  Burges,  M.A.  5^. 

GREEK  ROMANCES  of  HeUo- 
dorus,  Longus,  and  Achilles 
Tatlus— viz.,  The  Adventures  of 
Theagenes  &  Chariclea  ;  Amours 
of  Daphnis  and  Chloe  ;  and  Loves 
of  Clitopho  and  I^eucippe.  Trans- 
lated by  Rev.  R.  Smith,  M.A. 
5^. 


GREGORY'S  Letters  on  the 
Evidences,  Dootrines,  &  Duties 
of  the  Christian  Religion.  By 
Dr.  Olinthus  Gregory.    3^.  6^. 

GREENE,  MARLOWE,  and 
BEN  JONSON.  Poems  of. 
Edited  by  Robert  Bell.    3^.  6d, 

GRIMM'S  TALES.  With  the 
Notes  of  the  Original.  Translated 
by  Mrs.  A.  Hunt.  With  Intro- 
duction by  Andrew  Lang,  M.A. 
2  vols.    3^.  6ci.  each. 

  Gammer  Grethel;  or,  Ger- 
man Fairy  Tales  and  Popular 
Stories.  Containing  42  Fairy 
Tales.  Trans,  by  Edgar  Taylor. 
With  numerous  Woodcuts  after 
George  Cruikshank  and  Ludwig 
Grimm.    31. 6d. 

GROSSI'S  Maroo  Visoonti. 
Translated  by  A.  F.  D.  The 
Ballads  rendered  into  English 
Verse  by  C.  M.  P.    3^.  6d. 

GUIZOT'S  History  of  the 
English  Revolution  of  1640. 

From  the  Accession  of  Charles 
I.  to  his  Death.  Translated  by 
William  Hazlitt.  6d. 

  History  of  Civilisation,  from 

the  Fall  of  the  Roman  Empire  to 
the  French  Revolution.  Trans- 
lated by  William  Hazlitt.  3  vols. 
31.  (>d.  each. 

HALL'S  (Rev.  Robert)  Miscel- 
laneous Works  and  Remains. 
3J.  6d, 

HAMPTON  COURT:  A  Short 
History  of  the  Manor  and 
Palace.  %  Ernest  Law,  B.A. 
With  numerous  Illustrations,  ^s, 

HARDWIOK'S  History  of  the 
Articles  of  Religion.  By  tlie  late 
C.  Ilardwick.  Revised  by  the 
Rev.  Francis  Procter,  M.A.  5^. 


Contained  in  Bohn's  Libraries.  1 1 


HAUFF'S  Tales.  The  Caravan— 
The  Sheik  of  Alexandria— The 
Inn  in  the  Spessart.  Trans,  from 
the  German  by  S.  Mendel.  31.  dd, 

HAWTHORNE^S  Tales.   4  vols. 
3 J.  dd,  each. 
I. — Twice-told  Tales,  and  the 

Snow  Image. 
II.—  Scarlet  Letter,  and  the  House 
with  the  Seven  Gables. 

III.  — Transformation  [The  Marble 

Faun],  and  Blithedale  Ro- 
mance. 

IV.  — Mosses  from  an  Old  Manse. 

HAZLITT'S  Table-talk.  Essays 
on  Men  and  Manners.  By  W. 
Hazlitt.    3^.  K}d. 

 Lectures  on  the  Literature 

of  the  Age  of  Elizabeth  and  on 
Characters  of  Shakespeare's  Plays, 
6d, 

  Lectures  on   the  English 

Poets,  and  on  the  English  Comic 
Writers.    3^.  6d» 

 The  Plain  Speaker.  Opinions 

on  Books,  Men,  and  Things.  3^.  6d, 
- —  Round  Talle.    -^j.  6d. 

  Sketches    and  Essays. 

3s.  6d. 

  The  Spirit  of  the  Age;  or, 

Contemporary  Portraits.  Edited 
by  W.  Carew  Hazlitt.    3.?.  6d. 

 View  of  the  English  Stage. 

Edited  by  W.  Spencer  Jackson. 
3^.  6d. 

BEATON'S  Concise  History  of 
Painting,  New  Edition,  revised 
by  Cosmo  Monkhouse.  5^. 

HEGEL'S  Lectures  on  the  Philo- 
sophy of  History .  Translated  by 
J-  Sibree,  M.A. 

HEINE'S   Poems,  Complete 
'  Translated  by  Edgar  A.  Bowring, 
CB.    3J.  6d. 

 Travel-Pictures,  including  the 

Tour  in  the  Harz,  Norderney,  and 


Book  of  ideas,  together  with  the 
Romantic  School.  Translated  by 
Francis  Storr.  A  New  Edition, 
revised  throughout.  With  Appen- 
dices and  Maps.    3.^,  6d, 

HELP'S  Life  of  Christopher 
Columbus,  the  Discoverer  of 
America.  By  Sir  Arthur  Helps, 
K.C.B.    3J.  6d, 

  Life  of  Hernando  Cortes, 

and  the  Conquest  of  Mexico.  2 
vols.    3j.  6d.  each. 

  Life  of  Pizarro.    p.  6d, 

  Life  of  Las  Casas  the  Apostle 

of  the  Indies.    31.  6d. 

HENDERSON  (E.)  Select  His- 
torical Documents  of  the  Middle 
Ages,  including  the  most  famous 
Charters  relating  to  England,  the 
Empire,  the  Church,  Sc.,  from 
the  6th  to  the  14th  Centuries. 
Translated  from  the  Latin  and 
edited  by  Ernest  F.  Henderson, 
A.B.,  A.M.,  Ph.D.  5J. 

HENFREY'S  Guide  to  English 
Coins,  from  the  Conquest  to  the 
present  time.  New  and  revised 
Edition  by  C.  F.  Keary,  M.A., 
F.S.A.  6j. 

HENRY  OF  HUNTINGDON'S 
History  of  tha  English.  Trans- 
lated by  T.  Forester,  M.A.  $s, 

HENRY'S  (Matthew)  Exposition 
of  the  Book  of  the  Psalms.  5^. 

HELIODORUS.  Theagenes  and 
Chariclea.  —  See  Greek  Ro- 
mances. 

HERODOTUS.  Translated  by  the 
Rev.  Henry  Cary,  M.A.    35.  6d, 

 Notes  on.  Original  and  Se- 
lected from  the  best  Commenta- 
tors. By  D.  W.  Turner,  M.A. 
With  Coloured  Map.  5^. 

  Analysis  and  Summary  of 

By  J.  T.  Wheeler,  cj. 


12 


An  Alphabetical  List  of  Books 


HESIOD,  CALLTMACHL-S,  and 
THEOGNIS.  Translated  by  the 
Rev.  J.  Banks,  M.A.  5j. 

HOFFMANN'S  (E,  T.  W.)  The 
Seraplon  Brethren,  Translated 
from  the  German  by  Lt.-CoL  Alex. 
Ewing.    2  vols.    3 J.  ^d,  each. 

HOLBEIN'S  Dance  of  Death 
and  Bible  Cuts  Upwards  of  1 50 
Subjects,  engraved  in  facsimile, 
with  Introduction  and  Descrip- 
tions by  Francis  Douce  and  Dr. 
Thomas  Frognall  Dibden.  5^. 

HOMER'S  Iliad.  Translated  into 
English  Prose  by  T.  A.  Buckley, 
B.A.  5^. 

 Odyssey.   Hymns,  Epigrams, 

and  Battle  of  the  Frogs  and  Mice. 
Translated  into  English  Prose  by 
T.  A.  Buckley,  B,A.  5^. 

  See  also  PorE. 

HOOPEB'S  (G.)  Waterloo  :  The 
Downfall  of  the  First  Napo- 
leon :  a  History  of  the  Campaign 
of  18 1 5.  By  George  Hooper. 
With  Maps  and  Plans.    3^.  6<i. 

  The  Campaign  of  Sedan : 

The  Downfall  of  the  Second  Em- 
pire, August  -  Sept  timber,  1870. 
With  General  Map  and  Six  Plans 
of  Battle.    3^.  dd. 

HORACE.  A  new  literal  Prose 
tianslation,  by  A.  Hamilton  Bryce, 
LL  D.    3;.  td. 

HUGO'S  (Victor)  Dramatic 
Works.  Hernani— Ruy  Bias — 
The  King's  Diversion.  Translated 
by  Mrs.  Newton  Crosland  and 
F.  L.  Slous.    3J.  ()d, 

  Poems,  chiefly  Lyrical.  Trans- 
lated by  various  Writers,  now  first 
collected  by  J.  H.  L.  Williams. 
3J.  dd, 

HUMBOLDT'S  Cosmos.  Trans- 
lated by  E.  C.  Ott6,  B.  H.  Paul, 
and  W.  S.  Dallas,  F.L.S.  5  vols. 
35.  (id,  each,  excepting  Vol.  V.  5j. 


HUMBOLDT'S  Personal  Narra- 
tive of  his  Travels  to  the  Equi- 
noctial Regions  of  America  during 
the  years  1 799- 1 804.  Translated 
by  T,  Ross.   3  vols.    5^.  each. 

 Views  of  Nature.  Translated 

by  E.  C.  Ott^  and  H.  G.  Bohn. 

HUMPHREYS'  Coin  Collector's 
Manual.  By  H.  N.  Humphreys, 
with  upwards  of  140  Illustrations 
on  Wood  and  Steel.  2  vols.  55. 
each. 

HUNGARY :  its  History  and  Re- 
volution, together  with  a  copious 
Memoir  of  Kossuth.    3^.  6^. 

HUTCHINSON  (Colonel).  Me- 
moirs of  the  Life  of.  By  his 
Widow,  Lucy  :  together  with  hei 
Autobiography,  and  an  Account 
of  the  Siege  of  Lathom  House. 
3J.  (id, 

HUNT'S  Poetry  of  Science.  By 
Richard  Hunt.  3rd  Edition,  re- 
vised and  enlarged.  5^. 

INGULPH'H  Chronicles  of  the 
Abbey  of  Oroyland,  with  the 
Continuation  by  Peter  of  Blois 
and  other  Writers.  Translated  by 

II.  T.  Riley,  M.A.  51. 

IRVING'S  (Washington)  Com- 
plete Works.  15  vols.  With  Por- 
traits, &c.    3J.  dd,  each. 
I. — Salmagundi,  Knicker- 
bocker's History  of  New 
York. 

II.— The  Sketch-Book,  and  the 
Life  of  Oliver  Goldsmith. 

III.  — Bracebridge  Hall,  Abbots- 

ford  and  Newstead  Abbey. 

IV.  — The  Alhambra,  Tales  of  a 

Traveller. 

v.— Chronicle  of  the  Conquest 
of  Granada,  Legends  of 
the  Conquest  of  Spain. 


13 


Irving's  (Washington)  Complete 
Works  continued, 

VI.  &  VII.— Life  and  Voyages  of 
Columbus,  together  with 
the  Voyages  of  his  Com- 
panions. 

VIII.— Astoria,  A  Tour  on  the 
Prairies. 

IX. — Life  of  Mahomet,  Lives  of  the 
Successors  of  Mahomet. 
X. — Adventures  of  Captain  Bon- 
neville, U.S.A.,  Wolfert's 
Roost. 

XL — Biographies  and  Miscella- 
neous Papers. 
XIL-XV.—Life  of  George  Wash- 
ington.   4  vols. 

  Life  and  Letters.    By  his 

Nephew,  Pierre  E.  Irving.  2  vols. 
3J.  dd,  each. 

ISOCRA.TES,  The  Orations  of 
Translated  by  J.  H.  Freese,  M.A. 
Vol.  I.  5J. 

JAMES'S  (G.  P.  K.)  Life  of 
Richard  Coeur  de  Lion.  2  vols. 
3J.  (id,  each. 

JAMESON'S  (Mrs.)  Shake- 
speare's Heroines.  Character- 
istics of  Women:  Moral,  Poetical, 
and  Historical.  By  Mrs.  Jameson. 

JESSE'S  (E.)  Anecdotes  of  Dogs. 

With  40  Woodcuts  and  34  Steel 
Engravings.  5^. 

JESSE'S  (J.  H.)  Memoirs  of  the 
Coiirt  of  England  during  the 
Reign  of  the  Stuarts,  including 
the  Protectorate.  3  vols.  With 
42  Portraits.    5j.  each. 

 Memoirs  of  the  Pretenders 

and  their  Adherents.  With  6 
Portraits.  5^. 

JOHNSON'S  Lives  of  the  Poets. 
Edited  by  Mrs.  Alexander  Napier, 
with  Introduction  by  Professor 
Hales.    3  vols.    3^.  dd,  each. 


JOSEPHUS  (Flavlus),  The  Works 
of.  Whiston's  Translation,  re- 
vised by  Rev.  A.  R.  Shilleto,  M.A 
With  Topographical  and  Geo. 
graphical  Notes  by  Colonel  Sir 
C.  W.  Wilson,  K.C.B.  5  vols. 
3J.  6</.  each. 

JULIAN,  the  Emperor.  Contain- 
ing Gregory  Nazianzen's  Two  In- 
vectives and  Libanus'  Monody, 
with  Julian's  extant  Theosophical 
Works.  Translated  by  C.  W. 
King,  M.A.  5^. 

JUNIUS'S  Letters.  With  all  the 
Notes  of  Woodfall's  Edition,  and 
important  Additions.  2  vols. 
3J.  dd,  each. 

JUSTIN  CORNELIUS  NEPOS, 
and  EUTROPIUS.  Translated 
by  the  Rev.  J.  S.  Watson,  M.A. 

JUVENAL,  PERSIUS,  SUL- 
PICIA  and  LUCILIUS.  Trans- 
lated by  L.  Evans,  M.A.  55. 

KANT'S  Critique  of  Pure  Reason. 
Translated  by  J.  M.  D.  Meikle- 
john.  5j. 

  Prolegomena  and  Meta- 
physical Foundation  s  ofNatural 
Science.  Translated  byE.  Belfort 
Bax.  5j. 

KEIGHTLEY'S  (Thomas)  My- 
thology of  Ancient  Greece  and 
Italy.  4th  Edition,  revised  by 
Leonard  Schmitz,  Ph.D.,  LL.D. 
With  12  Plates  from  the  Antique. 

KEIGHTLEY'S  Fairy  Mytho- 
logy, illustrative  of  the  Romance 
and  Superstition  of  Various  Coun- 
tries. Revised  Edition,  with 
Frontispiece  by  Cruikshank.  5^. 

LA  FONTAINE'S  Fables.  Trans- 
lated into  English  Verse  by  EUzur 
Wright.  New  Edition,  with  Note  s 
by  J.  W.  M.  Gibbs.    3j.  6^/. 


An  Alphabetical  List  of  Books 


LAMARTINE'S  History  of  the 
Girondists.  Translated  by  H.  T. 
Ryde.     3  vols.    3^.  6d,  each. 

 History  of  the  Restoration 

of  Monarchy  in  France  (a  Sequel 
to  the  History  of  the  Girondists). 
4  vols.    35.  6d,  each. 

 .  History  of  the  French  Re- 

volutio^  of  1848.    3^.  6d. 

LAMB'S  (Charles)  Essays  of  EUa 
and  Ellana.  Complete  Edition. 
3J.  6d. 

—  Speoimens  of  English  Dra- 
matic Poets  of  the  Time  of 
Elizabeth.    3^.  6d, 

 Memorials  and  Letters  of 

Charles  Lamb.  By  Serjeant 
Talfourd.  New  Edition,  revised, 
by  W.  Carew  Hazlitt.  2  vols. 
3^.  6d,  each. 

  Tales  from  Shakespeare 

With  Illustrations  by  Byam  Shaw, 
3i-.  6d, 

LANE'S  Arabian  Nights'  Enter- 
tainments. Edited  by  Stanley 
Lane-Poole,  M.A.,  Litt.D.  4 
vols.    3^.  6d.  each. 

LANZI'S  History  of  Painting  in 
Italy,  from  the  Period  of  the 
Revival  of  the  Fine  Arts  to  the 
End  of  the  Eighteenth  Century. 
Translated  by  Thomas  Roscoe. 
3  vols.    35".  dd,  each. 

LAPPENBERG'S  History  of 
England  under  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  Kings.  Translated  by 
B.  Thorpe,  F.S.A.  New  edition, 
revised  by  E.  C.  Otte.  2  vols. 
35-.  6d,  each. 

LECTURES  ON  PAINTING, 

by  B.irry,  Oi)ie,  Fuseli.  Edited 
by  R.  Wornum.  5^. 


LEONARDO  DA  VINCI'S 
Treatise  on  Painting.  Trans- 
lated by  J.  F.  Rigaud,  R.A., 
With  a  Life  of  Leonardo  by  John 
William  Brown.  With  numerous 
Plates.  $5, 

LEPSIUS'S  Letters  from  Egypt, 
Ethiopia,  and  the  Peninsula  of 
Sinai,  Translated  by  L.  and 
J.  B.  Horner.    With  Maps.  5j. 

LESSING'S  Dramatic  Works, 
Complete.  Edited  by  Ernest  Bell, 
M.A.  With  Memoir  of  Lessing 
by  Helen  Zimmern.  2  vols. 
3 J.  6d,  each. 

  Laokoon,  Dramatic  Notes, 

and  the  Representation  01 
Death  by  the  Ancients.  Trans- 
lated by  E.  C.  Beasley  and  Helen 
Zimmern.  Edited  by  Edward 
Bell,  M.A.  With  a  Frontispiece 
of  the  Laokoon  group.    3^.  6d. 

LILLY'S  Introduction  to  Astro- 
logy. With  a  Grammar  of 
Astrology  and  Tables  for  Cal- 
culating Nativities,  by  Zadkiel.  ^s. 

LIVY'S  History  of  Rome.  Trans- 
lated by  Dr.  Spillan,  C  Edmonds, 
and  others.    4  vols.    51.  each. 

LOCKE'S  Philosophical  Works. 
Edited  by  J.  A.  St.  John.  2  vols. 
3^".  6d,  each. 

  Life  and  Letters:    By  Lord 

King.    3J".  6d, 

LOOKHART  (J.  (3r.)^See  Burns. 

LODGE'S  Portraitsof  Illustrious 
Personages  of  Great  Britain, 
with  Biographical  and  Historical 
Memoirs.  240  Portraits  engraved 
on  Steel,  with  the  respective  Bio- 
graphies unabridged.  8  vols.  ^s. 
each. 

LONGFELLOW'S  Prose 
Works.  With  16  full- page  Wood 
Engravings,  ^s. 


Contained  in  Bohn's  Libraries, 


15 


LOUDON'S  (Mrs.)  Natural 
History.  Revised  edition,  by 
W.  S.  Dallas,  F.L.S.  Wiih 
numerous  Woodcut  lUus.  5^. 

LOWNDES'  Bibliographer's 
Manual  of  English  Literature. 
Enlarged  Edition.  By  H.  G. 
Bohn.  6  vols,  cloth,  51.  each. 
Or  4  vols,  half  morocco,  2/.  2^. 

LONGUS.  Daphnis  and  Ghloe. 
— See  Greek  Romances. 

LUCAN'S  Pharsalia.  Translated 
by  H.  T.  Riley,  M.A.  5^. 

LUCIAN'S  Dialogues  of  the 
Gods,  of  the  Sea  Gods,  and 
of  the  Dead.  Translated  by 
Howard  Williams,  M.A.  5^. 

LUCRETIUS.  A  Prose  Trans- 
lation. By  H.  A.  J.  Munro. 
Reprinted  from  the  Final  (4th) 
Edition.  With  an  Introduction 
by  J.  D.  Duff,  M.A.  5x. 

  Translated  by  the  Rev.  J.  ?. 

Watson,  M.A.  5J-. 

LUTHER'S  Table-Talk.  Trans- 
lated and'  Edited  by  William 
Hazlitt.    35.  dd. 

  Autobiography.  "—5"^?^ 

MiCHELET. 

MACHIAVELLI'S  History  of 
Florence,  together  with  the 
Prince,  Savonarola,  various  His- 
torical Tracts,  and  a  Memoir  of 
Machiavelli.    3^.  6^. 

MALLET'S  Northern  Antiqui- 
ties, or  an  Historical  Account  of 
the  Manners,  Customs,  Religions 
and  Laws,  Maritime  Expeditions 
and  Discoveries,  Language  and 
Literature,  of  the  Ancient  wScandi- 
navians.  Translated  by  Bishop 
Percy.  Revised  and  Enlarged 
Edition,  with  a  Translation  of  the 
Prose  Edda,  by  J.  A.  P.lack- 
well.  5.«. 


MANTELL'S  (Dr.)  Petrifactions 
and  their  Teachings.  With  nu- 
merous illustrative  Woodcuts-  6x. 

  Wonders  of  Geology.  8th 

Edition,  revised  by  T.  Rupert 
Jones,  F.G.S.  With  a  coloured 
Geological  Map  of  England, 
Plates,  and  upwards  01  200 
Woodcuts.   2  vols.  7j.  td,  each. 

MANZONI.  The  Betrothed: 
being  a  Translation  of  *  I  Pro- 
messi  Sposi.'  By  Alessandro 
Manzoni.  With  numerous  Wood- 
cuts. 5i-. 

IWLARCO  POLO'S  Travels;  the 
Translation  of  Marsden  revised 
by  T.  Wright,  M.A.,  F.S.A.  5^. 

MARRYAT'S  (Capt.  R.N.) 
Masternian  Ready.  With  93 
Woodcuts.    3^.  dd, 

  Mission ;  or.  Scenes  in  Africa. 

Illustrated  by  Gilbert  and  Dalziel. 
3^.  dd, 

  Pirate  and  Three  Cutters. 

With  8  Steel  Engravings,  from 
Drawings  by  Clarkson  Stanfield, 
R.A.  3J. 

  Privateersman.  8  Engrav- 
ings on  Steel,    y.  6a 

  Settlers  in  Canada.  10  En- 
gravings by  Gilbert  and  Dalziel. 
3^,  6d, 

  Poor  Jack.  With  16  Illus- 
trations after  Clarkson  Stansneld, 
R.A.    31.  6c/. 

 ,  Peter  Simple,    With  8  full- 

piige  Illustrations.    35-.  6d, 

  Midshipman  Easy.    Witli  S 

full-page  Illustrations.    3J.  (>d, 

MARTIAL'S  Epigrams,  complete. 
Translated  into  Prose,  each  ac- 
companied by  one  or  more  Verse 
Translations  selected  from  the 
Works  of  English  Poets,  and 
other  sources.    7^.  (xi. 


1 6  An  Alphabetical 


List  of  Books 


MABTINEAU'S  (Harriet)  His- 
tory of  England,  from  1800- 
18 1 5.    3J.  6^/. 

  History  of  the  Thirty  Years' 

Peace,  a.d.  1815-46.  4  vols. 
3J.  dd.  each. 

 See  Comte's  Positive  Philosophy, 

MATTHEW  PARIS'S  English 
History,  from  the  Year  1235  to 
1273.  Translated  by  Rev.  J.  A. 
Giles,  D.C.L.  3  vols.  Ss.  each. 
[Vols,  II.  and  III.  out  of  print, 

MATTHEW  OF  WESTMIN- 
STER'S Flowers  of  History, 
from  the  beginning  of  the  World 
to  A.D.  1307.  Translated  by  C.  D. 
Yonge,  M.A.    2  vols.    5 J.  each. 

MAXWELL'S  Victories  of  Wel- 
Ington  and  the  British  Armies. 
Frontispiece  and  5  Portraits.  $s. 

MENZEL'S  History  of  Germany, 
from  the  Earliest  Period  to  1842. 
3  vols.    3J.  6d,  each. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  AND 
RAPHAEL,  their  Lives  and 
Works.  By  Duppa  aud  Quatre- 
mere  de  Quincy.  With  Portraits, 
and  Engravings  on  Steel,  ^s, 

MICHELET'S  Luther's  Auto- 
biography. Trans,  by  William 
Hazlitt.  With  an  Appendix  (no 
pages)  of  Notes,    y,  6d. 

 History  of  the  French  Revo- 
lution from  its  earliest  indications 
to  the  flight  of  the  King  in  1791. 
3^.  6d. 

MlGNET'SHlstory  of  theFrench 
Revolution,  from  1789  to  18 14. 
3J.  6d.    New  edition  reset. 

MILL  (J.  S.)  Early  Essays  by 
John  Stuart  Mill.  Collected  from 
various  sources  byj.  W.  M.  Gibbs. 

MILLER  (Professor).  History 
Philosophically  Illustrated,from 
the  Fall  of  the  Roman  Empire  to 
the  French  Revolution.  4  vols. 
3f.  6d,  each. 


MILTON'S  Prose  Works.  Edited 
by  J.  A.  St.  John.  5  vols.  31.  6d, 
each. 

  Poetical  Works,  with  a  Me- 
moir and  Critical  Remarks  by 
James  Montgomery,  an  Index  to 
Paradise  Lost,  Todd's  Verbal  Index 
to  all  the  Poems,  and  a  Selection 
of  Explanatory  Notes  by  Henry 
G.  Bohn.  Illustrated  with  120 
Wood  Engravings  from  Drawings 
by  W.  Harvey.  2  vols.  31.  6d, 
each. 

MITFORD'S  (Miss)  Our  Village 

Sketches  of  Rural  Character  and 
Scenery.  With  2  Engravings  on 
Steel.    2  vols.    31.  6d,  each. 

MOLIERE'S  Dramatic  Works. 

A  new  Translation  in  English 

Prose,  by  C.  H.  Wall.  3  vols. 
3^.  6d,  each. 

MONTAGU.  The  Letters  and 
Works  of  Lady  Mary  Wortley 
Montagu.  Edited  by  her  great- 
grandson,  Lord  Wharncliffe's  Edi- 
tion, and  revised  by  W.  Moy 
Thomas.  New  Edition,  revised, 
with  5  Portraits.  2  vols,  ^s,  each. 

MONTAIGNE'S  Essays.  Cotton's 
Translation,  revised  by  W.  C. 
Hazlitt.  New  Edition.  3  vols. 
3^.  6d.  each. 

MONTESQUIEU'S  Spirit  oi 
Laws.  New  Edition,  revised  and 
corrected.  By  J.  V.  Pritchard, 
A.M.    2  vols.    3^.  6d,  each. 

MORPHY'S   Games  of  Chess. 

Being  the  Matches  and  best  Games 
played  by  theAmerican  Champion, 
with  Explanatory  and  Analytical 
Notes  by  J.  Lowenthal.  5^. 

MOTLEY  (J.  L.).  The  Rise  01 
the  Dutoh  Republic.  A  History. 
By  John  Lothrop  Motley.  New 
Edition,  with  Biographical  Intro- 
duction by  Moncure  D.  Conway. 
3  vols.    3J.  6d.  each. 


Contained  in  Bohn's  Libraries. 


17 


MUDIE'S  British  Birds ;  or,  His- 
tory of  the  Feathered  Tribes  of  the 
British  Islands.  Revised  by  W. 
C.  L.  Martin.  With  52  Figures 
of  Birds  and  7  Coloured  Plates  of 
Eggs.    2  vols. 

NEANDER  (Dr.  A.).  History 
of  the  Christian  Religion  and 
Church.  Trans,  from  the  German 
by  J.  Torrey.  10  vols.  31.  dd.  each. 

  Life  of  Jesus  Christ.  Trans- 
lated by  J.  McClintock  and  C. 
Blumenthal.    31.  6^. 

 History  oi  the  Planting  and 

Training  of  the  Christian 
Church  by  the  Apostles. 
Translated  by  J.  E.  Ryland. 
2  vols.    3 J.  6^.  each. 

 Memorials  of  Christian  Life 

In  the  Early  and  Middle  Ages  ; 
including  Light  in  Dark  Places. 
Trans,  by  J.  E.  Ryland.    3^.  dd, 

NIBELUNGEN  LIED.  The 
Lay  of  the  Nibelungs,  metrically 
translated  from  the  old  German 
text  by  Alice  Horton,  and  edited 
by  Edward  Bell,  M.A.  To  which 
is  prefixed  the  Essay  on  the  Nibe- 
lungen  Lied  by  Thomas  Carlyle. 

NEW  TESTAMENT  (The)  in 
Greek.  Griesbach's  Text,  with 
various  Readings  at  the  foot  of 
the  page,  and  Parallel  References 
in  the  margin  ;  also  a  Critical 
Introduction  and  Chronological 
Tables.  By  an  eminent  Scholar, 
with  a  Greek  and  English  Lexicon.  ' 
3rd  Edition,  revised  and  corrected. 
Two  Facsimiles  of  Greek  Manu- 
scripts.   900  pages.  5j. 

The  Lexicon  may  be  had  sepa- 
rately, price  2J. 

NICOLINI'S  History  of  the 
Jesuits:  their  Origin,  Progress, 
Doctrines,  and  Designs.  With  8 
Portraits.  5^. 


NORTH  (R.)  Lives  of  the  Right 
Hon.  Francis  North,  Baron  Guild- 
ford, the  Hon.  Sir  Dudley  North, 
and  the  Hon.  and  Rev.  Dr.  John 
North.  By  the  Hon.  Roger 
North.  Together  with  the  Auto- 
biography of  the  Author.  Edited 
by  Augustus  Jessopp,  D.D.  3  vols. 
3^.  each. 

NUGENT'S  (Lord)  Memorials 
of  Hampden,  his  Party  and 
Times.  With  a  Memoir  of  the 
Author,  an  Autograph  Letter,  and 
Portrait.  51. 

OLD  ENGLISH  CHRON- 
ICLES, including  Ethelwerd's 
Chronicle,  Asser's  Life  of  Alfred, 
Geoffrey  of  Monmouth's  British 
History,  Gildas,  Nennius,  and  the 
spurious  chronicle  of  Richard  of 
Cirencester.  Edited  by  J.  A. 
Giles,  D.C.L.  s^- 

OMAN  (J.  C.)  The  Great  Indian 
Epics :  the  Stories  of  the  Rama- 
YANA  and  the  Mahabharata. 
By  John  Campbell  Oman,  Prin- 
cipal of  Khalsa  College,  Amritsar. 
With  Notes,  Appendices,  and 
Illustrations.    35".  6</. 

ORDERICUS  VITALISE  Eccle- 
siastical History  of  England 
and  Normandy.  Translated  by 
T.  Forester,  M.A.  To  which  is 
added  the  Chronicle  of  St. 
EvROULT.    4  vols.    5.r.  each. 

OVID'S  Works,  complete.  Literally 
translated  into  Prose.  3  vols. 
5i".  each. 

PASCAL'S  Thoughts.  Translated 
from  the  Text  of  Augusta 
Molinier  by  C.  Kegan  Paul.  3rd 
Edition.    3j.  dd. 

PAULI'S  (Dr.  R.)  Life  ot  Alfred 
the  Great.  Translated  from  the 
German.  To  which  is  appended 
Alfred's  Anglo-Saxon  Version 


i8 


An  Alphabetical  List  of  Books 


OF  Orosius.  With  a  literal 
Translation  interpaged,  Notes, 
and  an  Anglo-Saxon  Grammar 
and  Glossary,  by  B.  Thorpee  5^. 

PAUSANIAS'  Description  of 
Greece.  Newly  translated  by  A.  R. 
Shilleto,  M.A.   2  vols.   5^.  each. 

PEARSOK'S  Exposition  of  the 
Creed.  Edited  by  E.  Waiford, 
M.A. 

PEPYS'  Diary  and  Correspond- 
ence. Deciphered  by  the  Rev. 
J.  Smith,  M.A.,  from  the  original 
Shorthand  MS.  in  the  Pepysian 
Library.  Edited  by  Lord  Bray- 
brooke.  4  vols.  With  31  En- 
gravings.   5J".  each. 

PERCY'S  Reliques  of  Ancient 
English  Poetry.  With  an  Essay 
on  Ancient  Minstrels  and  a  Glos- 
sary. Edited  by  J.  V.  Pritchard, 
A.M.    2  vols.    3 J.  ^d.  each. 

PERSIXJS.— 6*^^  Juvenal. 

PETRARCH'S  Sonnets,  Tri- 
umphs, and  other  Poems. 
Translated  into  English  Verse  by 
various  Hands.  With  a  Life  of 
the  Poet  by  Thomas  Campbell. 
With  Portrait  and  15  Steel  En- 
gravings. 5^. 

PHILO  -  JUDiEUS,  Works  of. 
Translated  by  Prof.  C.  D.  Yonge, 
M.A.    4  vols.    5j.  each. 

PICKERING'S  History  of  the 
Races  of  Man,  and  their  Geo- 
graphical Distribution.  With  An 
Analytical  Synopsis  of  the 
Natural  History  of  Man  by 
Dr.  Hall.  With  a  Map  of  the 
World  and  12  coloured  Plates.  51. 

PINDAR.  Translated  into  Prose 
by  Dawson  W.  Turner.  To  which 
is  added  the  Metrical  Version  by 
Abraham  Moore. 


PLANCHE.    History  of  British 
Costume,  from  the  Earliest  Time 
to  the  Close  of  the  Eighteenth 
Century.      By  \,   R.  Planch^, 
Somerset  Herald.*  With  upwards 
of  400  Illustrations,  ^j. 
PLATO'S  Works.  Literally  trans- 
lated,   with    Introduction  and 
Notes.    6  vols.    5^.  each, 
I. — The  Apology  of  Socrates, 
Crito,  Phsedo,  Gor^ias,  Pro- 
tagoras, Phsedrus,  Thesetetus, 
Euthyphron,  Lysis.  Trans- 
lated by  the  Rev.  H.  Carey. 

II.  — The  Republic,  Timaeus,  and 

Critias.  Translated  by  Henry 
Davis. 

III.  — Meno,    Euthydemus,  The 

Sophist,  Statesman,  Cratylus, 
Par menides,  and  the  Banquet. 
Translated  by  G.  Burges. 

IV.  — Philebus,  Charmides,  Laches, 

Menexenus,  Hippias,  Ion, 
The  Two  Alcibiades,  The- 
ages.  Rivals,  Hipparchus, 
Minos,  Clitopho,  Epistles. 
Translated  by  G.  Burges. 
v.— The   Laws.     Translated  by 

G.  Burges. 
VI.— The  Doubtful  Works.  Trans- 
lated by  G.  Burges. 

  Siunmary  and  Analysis  of 

the  Dialogues.  With  Analytical 
Index.    By  A.  Day,  LL.D.  55. 
PLAUTUS'S  Comedies.  Trans- 
lated by  H.  T.  Riley,  M.A.  2 
vols.    55*.  each, 
PLINY'S   Natural  History. 
Translated  by  the    late  John 
Bostock,  M.D.,  F.R.S.,  and  H.T. 
Riley,  M.A.    6  vols.    55.  each. 
PLINY.    The  Letters  of  PUny 
the  Younger.    Melmoth's  trans- 
lation, revised  by  the  Rev.  F.  C. 
T.  Bosanquet,  M.A.  5^. 
PLOTINUS,  Select  Works  of. 
Translated  by  Thomas  Taylor. 
With  an  Introduction  containing 
the  substance  of  Porphyry's  Plo- 
tinus.    Edited  by  G.  R.  S.  Mead, 
B.A.,  M.R.A.S.  55. 


Contained  in  Bohn's  Libraries. 


19 


PLUTARCH'S  Lives.  Translated 
by  A.  Stewart,  M.A.,  and  George 
Long,  M.A.  4  vols.  3? .  dd.  each. 

  Morals.  Theosophical  Essays. 

Translated  by  C.  W.  King,  M.A. 

 Morals.     Ethical  Essays. 

Translated  by  the  Rev.  A.  R. 
Shilleto,  M.A.  5^, 

POETRY  OF  AMERICA.  Se- 
lections from  One  Hundred 
American  Poets,  from  1776  to 
1876.    By  W.  J.  Linton.    3J.  6^. 

POLITICAL  CYCLOPiEDIA. 

A  Dictionary  of  Political,  Con- 
stitutional, Statistical,  and  Fo- 
rensic Knowledge ;  forming  a 
Work  of  Reference  on  subjects  of 
Civil  Administration,  Political 
Economy,  Finance,  Commerce, 
Laws,  and  Social  Relations.  4 
vols.    3^".  (id.  each. 

POPE'S  Poetical  Works.  Edited, 
with  copious  Notes,  by  Robert 
Carruthers.  With  numerous  Illus- 
trations.   2  vols.    5j.  each. 

  Homer's  Iliad.    Edited  by 

the  Rev.  J.  S.  Watson,  M.A. 
Illustrated  by  the  entird  Series  of 
Flaxman's  Designs.  51. 

 Homer's  Odyssey,  with  the 

Battle  of  Frogs  and  Mice,  Hymns, 
&c. ,  by  other  translators.  Edited 
by  the  Rev.  J.  S.  Watson,  M.A. 
With  the  entire  Series  of  Flax- 
man's  Designs.  5J. 

  Life,  including  many  of  his 

Letters.  By  Robert  Carruthers. 
With  numerous  Illustrations.  51. 

POUSHKIN'S  Prose  Tales :  The 

Captain's  Daughter — Doubrovsky 
—  The  Queen  of  Spades  —  An 
Amateur  Peasant  Girl— The  Shot 
—The  Snow  Storm— The  Post- 
master —  The  Coffin  Maker  — 
Kirdjali — The  Egyptian  Nights- 
Peter  the  Great's  Negro.  Trans- 
lated by  T.  Keane.    3J.  ^i. 


PRESOOTT'S  Conquest  of 
Mexico.  Copyright  edition,  with 
the  notes  by  John  Foster  Kirk, 
and  an  introduction  by  G.  P. 
Winship.    3  vols.    3^.  dd.  each. 

  Conquest  of  Peru.  Copyright 

edition,  with  the  notes  of  John 
Foster  Kirk.   2  vols.  3J.  6^/.  each. 

-™  Reign  of  Ferdinand  and 
Isabella.  Copyright  edition, 
with  the  notes  of  John  Foster 
Kirk.    3  vols.    3^.  (yd.  each. 

PROPERTIUS.  Translated  by 
Rev.  P.  J.  F.  Gantillon,  M.A., 
and  accompanied  by  Poetical 
Versions,  from  various  sources. 
3J.  (}d, 

PROVERBS,  Handbook  of.  Con- 
taining an  entire  Republication 
of  Ray's  Collection  of  English 
Proverbs,  with  his  additions  from 
P'oreign  Languages  and  a  com- 
plete Alphabetical  Index;  in  which 
are  introduced  large  additions  as 
well  of  Proverbs  as  of  Sayings, 
Sentences,  Maxims,  and  Phrases, 
collected  by  H.  G.  Bohn.  5j. 

PROVERBS,  A  Polyglot  of 
Foreign.  Comprising  French, 
Italian,  German,  Dutch,  Spanish, 
Portuguese,  and  Danish.  With 
English  Translations  &  a  General 
Index  by  H.  G.  Bohn.  5j. 

POTTERY  AND  PORCELAIN, 
and  other  Objects  of  Vertu.  Com- 
prising an  Illustrated  Catalogue  of 
the  Bernal  Collection  of  Works 
of  Art,  with  the  prices  at  which 
they  were  sold  by  auction,  and 
names  of  the  possessors.  To  which 
are  added,  an  Introductory  Lecture 
on  Pottery  and  Porcelain,  and  an 
Engraved  List  of  all  the  known 
Marks  and  Monograms.  By  Henry 
G.  Bohn.  V/ith  numerous  Wood 
Engravings,  5^. ;  or  with  Coloured 
Illustrations,  ioj.  6^/. 

PROUT'S  (Father)  ReUques.  Col- 
lected  and  arranged  by  Rev.  F. 
Mahony.  New  issue,  with  21 
Etchings  by  D.  Maclise,  R.A. 
Nearly  600  pages.  5j. 


20  An  Alphabetical  List  of  Books 


QUINTILIAN'S  Institutes  of 
Oratory,  or  Education  of  an 
Orator.  Translated  by  the  Rev. 
J.  S.  Watson,  M.A.  2  vols.  cj. 
each. 

RACINE'S  (Jean)  Dramatic 
Works.  A  metrical  English  ver- 
sion. By  R.  Bruce  Boswell,  M.A. 
Oxon.    2  vols.    3i.  dd,  each. 

RANKE'S  History  of  the  Popes, 
during  the  Last  Four  Centuries. 
Translated  by  E.  Foster.  Mrs. 
Foster's  translation  revised,  with 
considerable  additions,  by  G.  R. 
Dennis,  B.A.  3  vols.  3^.  (^d.  each. 

— —  History  of  Servia  and  the 
Servian  Revolution.  With  an 
Account  of  the  Insurrection  in 
Bosnia.  Translated  by  Mrs.  Kerr. 
3J.  6^/. 

RECREATIONS  in  SHOOTING. 

By  *  Craven.'  With  62  Engravings 
on  Wood  after  Harvey,  and  9 
Engravings  on  Steel,  chiefly  after 
A.  Cooper,  R.A.    5 J. 

RENNIE'S  Insect  Architecture. 
Revised  and  enlarged  by  Rev. 
J.  G.  Wood,  M.A.  With  186 
Woodcut  Illustrations.    5 J. 

REYNOLD'S  (Sir  J.)  Literary 
Works.  Edited  by  H.  W.  Beechy. 
2  vols.    3J.  6^/.  each. 

RIOARDO  on  the  Principles  of 
Political  Economy  and  Taxa- 
tion, Edited  by  E.  C.  K.  Conner, 
M.A.  5^. 

RICHTER  (Jean  Paul  Friedrich). 
Levana,  a  Treatise  on  Education: 
together  with  the  Autobiography 
(a  P'ragment),  and  a  short  Pre- 
fatory Memoir.    3J.  6^/. 

  Flower,  Fruit,  and  Thorn 

Pieces,  or  the  Wedded  Life,  Death, 
and  Marriage  of  Firmian  Stanis- 
laus Siebenkaes,  Parish  Advocate 
in  the  Parish  of  Kuhschnapptel. 
Newly  translated  by  Lt.  Col.  Alex. 
Ewing.    3J.  ^d 


ROGER  DE  HOVEDEN'S  An- 
nals of  English  History,  com- 
prising the  History  of  England 
and  of  other  Countries  of  Europe 
from  A.D.  732  to  A.  D.  1201, 
Translated  by  H.  T,  Riley,  M.A. 
2  vols.   5j.  each. 

ROGER  OF  WENDOVER'S 

Flowers  of  History,  comprising 
the  History  of  England  from  the 
Descent  of  the  Saxons  to  A.D. 
1 235, formerly  ascribed  to  Matthew 
Paris.  Translated  by  J.  A.  Giles, 
D.C.L.    2  vols.    5j.  each. 

[  Vol,  II.  out  of  print, 

ROME  in  the  NINETEENTH 
CENTURY.  Containing  a  com- 
plete Account  of  the  Ruins  of  the 
Ancient  City,  the  Remains  of  the 
Middle  Ages,  and  the  Monuments 
of  Modern  Times.  By  C.  A.  Eaton. 
With  34  Steel  Engravings.  2  vols. 
5 J.  each. 

 See  Burn. 

ROSCOE'S  (W.)  Life  and  Ponti- 
ficate of  Leo  X.  Final  edition, 
revised  by  Thomas  Roscoe.  2 
vols.    3J»  dd,  each. 

 Life  of  Lorenzo  de'  Mediol, 

called  *  the  Magnificent.'  With 
his  poems,  letters,  (fee  loth 
Edition,  revised,  with  Memoir  of 
Roscoe  by  his  Son.    3^.  6^/. 

RUSSIA.  History  of,  from  the 
earliest  Period,  compiled  from 
the  most  authentic  sources  by 
Walter  K.  Kelly.  With  Portraits. 
2  vols.    31  6fl?.  each. 

SALLUST,  FLORUS,  and  VEL- 
LEIUS  PATERCULUS. 

Translated  by  J.  S.Watson,  M.A. 

SCHILLER'S  Works.  Translated 
by  various  hands.  7  vols.  3J.  6fl?. 
each : — 

I.— History  of  the  Thirty  Years' 
War. 


Contained  in  Bohn's  Libraries. 


21 


Schiller's  Works  continued, 

II. — History  of  the  Revolt  in  the 
Netherlands,  the  Trials  of 
Counts  Egmont  and  Horn, 
the  Siege  of  Antwerp,  and 
the  Disturbances  in  France 
preceding  the  Reign  of 
Henry  IV. 

III.  — Don  Carlos,  Mary  Stuart, 

Maid  of  Orleans,  Bride  of 
Messina,  together  with  the 
Use  of  the  Chorus  in 
Tragedy  (a  short  Essay). 

These  Dramas  are  all 
translated  in  metre. 

IV.  — Robbers    ( with  Schiller's 

original  Preface),  Fiesco, 
Love  and  Intrigue,  De- 
metrius, Ghost  Seer,  Sport 
of  Divinity. 

The   Dramas  in  this 
volume  are  translated  into 
Prose. 
V. — Poems. 
VI.— Essays, ^sthetical and  Philo- 
sophical 

VII.— Wallenstein's  Camp,  Pic- 
colomini  and  Death  of 
Wallenstein,  William  Tell. 

SCHILLER  and  GOETHE. 
Correspondence  between,  from 
A.D.  1794- 1805.  Translated  by 
L.  Dora  Schmitz.  2  vols.  31.  ^d. 
each. 

SCHLEGEL^S  (F.)  Lectures  on 
the  Philosophy  of  Life  and  the 
Philosophy  of  Language.  Trans- 
lated by  the  Rev.  A.  J.  W.  Mor- 
rison, M.A.    3 J.  dd, 

  Lectures  on  the  History  of 

Literature,  Ancient  and  Modern. 

Translated  from  the  German.  3J.6<7. 
 Lectures  on  the  Philosophy 

of  History.    Translated  by  J.  B. 

Robertson.    3/.  6^. 

SCHLE  GEL'S  Lectures  on 
Modern  History,  together  with 
the  Lectures  entitled  Caesar  and 


Alexander,  and  The  Beginning  of 
our  History.  Translated  by  L. 
Purcell  and  R.  H.  Whitetock. 
IS,  6d. 

 iEsthetlc  and  Miscellaneous 

Works.  Translated  by  E.  J. 
Millington.    35.  6d. 

SCHLEGEL  (A.  W.)  Lectures 
on  Dramatic  Art  and  Literature. 
Translated  by  J.  Black.  Revised 
Edition,  by  the  Rev.  A.  J.  W. 
Morrison,  M.A.    ^s,  6d, 

SCHOPENHAUER  on  the  Four- 
fold Root  of  the  Principle  of 
Sufficient  Reason,  and  On  the 
Will  in  Nature.  Translated  by 
Madame  Hillebrand.  5^. 

  Essays.  Selected  and  Trans- 
lated. With  a  Biographical  Intro- 
duction and  Sketch  of  his  Philo- 
sophy, by  E!  Belfort  Bax.  ^s. 

SCHOUW'S  Earth,  Plants,  and 
Man.  Translated  by  A.  Henfrey. 
With  coloured  Map  of  the  Geo- 
graphy of  Plants.  5j. 

SCHUMANN  (Robert).  His  Life 
and  Works,  by  August  Reissmann. 
Translated  by  A.  L.  Alger,  ^s,  6d. 

  Early  Letters.  Originally  pub- 

blished  by  his  Wife.  Translated 
by  May  Herbert.  With  a  Preface 
by  Sir  George  Grove,  D.C.L. 
3s,  6d. 

SENECA  on  Benefits.  Newly 
translated  by  A.  Stewart,  M.A. 
3J.  6d, 

  Minor  Essays  and  On  Clem- 
ency. Translated  by  A.  Stewart, 
M.A.  5J. 

SHAKESPEARE  DOCU- 
MENTS. Arranged  by  D.  H. 
Lambert,  B.A.    33-.  6d, 

SHAKESPEARE'S  DramaUo 
Art.  The  History  and  Character 
of  Shakespeare's  Plays.  By  Dr. 
Hermann  Ulrici.  Translated  by 
L.  Dora  Schmitz.  2  vols.  31.  6d. 
each. 


22 


An  Alphabetical  List  of  Books 


SHAKESPEARE  (WilUam)^  A 
Literary  Biography  by  Karl  Elze, 
Ph.D.,  LL.D.  Translated  by 
L,  Dora  Schmitz.  55. 

SHARPE  (S.)  The  History  of 
Egypt,  from  the  Earliest  Times 
till  the  Conquest  by  the  Arabs, 
A.D.  640.  By  Samuel  Sharpe, 
2  Maps  and  upwards  of  400  Illus- 
trative W oodcuts.  2  vols.  55.  each. 

SHERIDAN'S  Dramatic  Works, 
Complete.    With  Life  by  G.  G.  S, 

SISMONDI'S  History  of  the 
Literature  of  the  South  01 
Europe.  Translated  by  Thomas 
Roscoe.    2  vols.    35,  6d.  each. 

SMITH'S  Synonyms  and  An- 
tonyms, or  Kindred  Words  and 
their  Opposites.  '  Revised  Edi- 
tion. 5j. 

  Synonyms  Discriminated. 

A  Dictionary  of  vSynonymous 
Words  in  the  English  Language, 
showing  the  Accurate  signification 
of  words  of  similar  meaning. 
Edited  by  the  Rev.  H.  Percy 
Smith,  M.A.  6^. 

SMITH'S  (Adam)  The  Wealth  of 
Nations.  Edited  by  E.  Belfort 
Bax.    2  vols.    3^.  each. 

 Theory  of  Moral  Sentiments. 

With  a  Memoir  of  the  Author  by 
Dugald  Stewart.    3^.  6d, 

SlidYTH'S  (Professor)  Lectures 
on  Modern  History.  2  vols. 
31.  6'/.  each. 

SMYTH'S  (Professor)  Lectures 
on  the  French  Revolution. 
2  vols.    31.  dd.  each. 

SMITH'S  (  Pye )  Geology  and 
Scripture.    2nd  Edition.  5j. 

SMOLLETT'S  Adventures  of 
Roderick  Random.  With  short 
Memoir  and  Bibliogrn,phy,  and 
Cruikshank's  Illustrations.  3j.  6d, 


SMOLLETT'S  Adventures  of 
Peregrine  Pickle.  With  Biblio- 
graphy and  Cruikshank's  Illus- 
trations,  2  vols.   3-).  6d,  each. 

  The  Expedition  of  Hum- 
phry Clinker.  With  Bibliography 
and  Cruikshank's  Illustrations. 
Zs,  6d, 

SOCRATES  (sumamed  'Soholas- 
ticus ' ) .  The  Ecclesiastical  His- 
tory of  (a.  d.  305-445).  Translated 
from  the  Greek.  5^. 

SOPHOCLES,  The  Tragedies  of. 
A  New  Prose  Translation,  with 
Memoir,  Notes,  (S:c.,  by  E.  P. 
Coleridge,  M.A.  ^y. 

SOUTH EY'S  Life  of  Nelson. 
With  Portraits,  Plans,  and  up- 
wards of  50  Engravings  on  Steel 
and  Wood,  ^s, 

  Life  of  Wesley,  and  the  Rise 

and  Progress  of  Methodism.  5J. 

  Robert  Southey.   The  Story 

of  his  Life  written  in  his  Letters. 
Edited  by  John  Dennis.    3^.  6d, 

SOZ  OMEN'S  Ecclesiastical  His- 
tory. Translated  from  the  Greek. 
Together  with  the  Ecclesiasti- 
cal History  of  Philostor- 
Gius,  as  epitomised  by  Photius. 
Translated  by  Rev.  E.  Walford, 
M.A.  5.<. 

SPINOZAS  Chief  Works.  Trans- 
lated, with  Introduction,by  R.H.M. 
Elwes.    2  vols.    5^.  each. 

STANLEY'S  Classified  Synopsis 
of  the  Principal  Painters  of  the 
Dutch  and  Flemish  Schools. 
By  George  Stanley.  5^. 

STARLING'S  (Miss) Noble  Deeds 
of  Women.  With  14  Steel  En- 
gravings. 5^. 

STAUNTON'S  Ohess  -  Player's 

Handbook. 
  Chess  Praxis.  A  Supplement 

to  the  Chess-player's  Handbook. 

5i. 


Contained  in  Bohn^s  Libraries. 


23 


STAUNTON'S  Chess  -  player's 
Companion.  Comprising  a  Trea- 
tise on  Odds,  Collection  of  Match 
Games,  and  a  Selection  of  Original 
Problems.  55. 

  Chess  Tournament  of  1851. 

With  Introduction  and  Notes.  5j. 

STOCKKARDT'S  Experimental 
Chemistry.  Edited  by  C.  W. 
Heaton,  F.C.S.  51. 

STOWE  (Mrs.H.B.)Unole  Tom's 
Cabin.    Illustrated.    3^.  (yd, 

STRABO'S  Geography.  Trans- 
lated by  W.  Falconer,  M.A., 
and  H.  C.  Hamilton.  3  vols. 
5^.  each. 

STRICKLAND'S  (Agnes)  Lives 
of  the  Queens  of  England,  from 
the  Norman  Conquest.  Revised 
Edition.  With  6  Portraits.  6  vols. 
5j.  each. 

  Life  of  Mary  Queen  of  Scots. 

2  vols.    5^".  each. 
 Lives  of  the  Tudor  and  Stuart 

Princesses.    With  Portraits.  5? 

STUART  and  REVETT'S  Anti- 
quities of  Athens,  and  other 
Monuments  of  Greece.  With  71 
Plates  engraved  on  Steel,  and 
numerous  Woodcut  Capitals.  5^. 

SUETONIUS'  Lives  of  the  Twelve 
CsBsars  and  Lives  of  the  Gram- 
marians. Thomson's  translation, 
revised  by  T.  Forester.  5^. 

SWIFT'S  Prose  Works.  Edited 
by  Temple  Scott.  With  a  Bio- 
graphical Introduction  by  the  Right 
Hon.  W.  E.  li.  Lecky,  M.P. 
With  Portraits  and  Facsimiles. 
12  vols.    3^.  dd,  each. 

\.Voh.  L^XL  ready. 
I.— A  Tale  of  a  Tub,  The  Battle 
of  the  Books,  and  other 
early  works.  Edited  by 
Temple  Scott.  With  a 
Biographical  Introduction 
by  W.  E.  H.  Lecky. 


SwiFi's  Prosk  "^o^^y.^  continued, 

II.— The  Journal  to  Stella.  Edited 
by  Frederick  Ryland,M.A. 
With  2  Portraits  and  Fac- 
simile. 

III. &  IV. — Writings  on  Religion  and 
the  Church. 
V. — Historical  and  Political 

Tracts  (English). 
VI.— The  Drapier's  Letters. 

With  facsimiles  of  Wood's 
Coinage,  &c. 
VII. — Historical     and  Political 
Tracts  (Irish). 
VIIL— Gulliver's  Travels.  Edited 
by  G.  ^  R.  Dennis.  With 
Portrait  and  Maps. 
IX. — Contributions  to  Periodicals. 
X.— Historical  Writings. 
XI. — Literary  Essays. 
XII. — Index  and  Bibliography,  &c. 

[In  preparation. 

TACITUS.  The  Works  of.  Liter- 
ally  translated.    2  vols.    51.  each. 

TASSO'S  Jerusalem  Delivered. 
Translated  into  English  Spenserian 
Verse  by  J.  H.  Wiffen.  With  8 
Engravings  on  Steel  and  24  Wood- 
cuts by  Thurston.  55. 

TAYLOR'S  (Bishop  Jeremy) 
Holy  Living  and  Dying.  3^.  6.7. 

TEN  BBINK.— 6-^^  Brink. 

TERENCE  and  PH-2E5DRUS. 
Literally  translated  by  PI,  T.  Riley, 
M.A.  To  which  is  added,  Smart's 
Metrical  Version  of  Phasdrus.  51. 

THEOCRITUS,  BION,  MOS- 
CHUS,  and  TYRT^US.  Liter- 
ally translated  by  the  Rev.  J. 
Banks,  M.A.  To  which  are  ap- 
pended the  Metrical  Versions  of 
Chapman.  5j. 

THEODORET  and  EVAGRIUS. 
Histories  of  the  Church  from  a.d. 
332  to  A.D.  427  ;  and  from  A.D. 
431  to  A.  D.  544.   Translated.  5j. 


24 


An  Alphabetical  List  of  Books 


THIERRY'S  History  of  the 
Conquest  of  England  by  the 
Normans.  Translated  by  Wil- 
liam Hazlitt.  2  vols.  31.  6df.  each. 

THUOYDIDES.  The  Pelopon- 
neslan  War.  Literally  translated 
by  the  Rev.  H.  Dale.  2  vols. 
35.  6^.  each. 

 An  Analysis  and  Summary 

of.    By  J.  T.  Wheeler.  5^. 

THUDICHUM  (J.  L.  W.)  A  Trea- 
tise on  Wines.  Illustrated.  5^. 

URE'S  (Dr.  A.)  Cotton  Manufac- 
ture of  Great  Britain.  Edited 
by  P.  L.  Simmonds.  2  vols.  5j. 
each. 

 Philosophy  of  Manufactures. 

Edited  by  P.  L.  Simmonds.  7^.  (>d. 

VASARI'S  Lives  of  the  most 
Eminent  Painters,  Sculptors, 
and  Architects.  Translated  by 
Mrs.  J.  Foster,  with  a  Commen- 
tary by  J.  P.  Richter,  Ph.D.  6 
vols.    3J.  dd.  each. 

VIRGIL.  A  Literal  Prose  Trans- 
lation by  A,  Hamilton  Bryce, 
LL.D.    With  Portrait,    35.  6^/. 

VOLTAIRE'S  Tales.  Translated 
by  R.  B.  Boswell.  Containing 
Bebouc,  Memnon,  Candide,  L'ln- 
genu,  and  other  Tales.    35.  (id, 

WALTON'S  Complete  Angler. 
Edited  by  Edward  Jesse.  With 
Portrait  and  203  Engravings  on 
Wood  and  26  Engravings  on 
Steel.  5^. 

  Lives  of  Donne,  Hooker,  &c. 

New  Edition  revised  by  A.  H. 
BuUen,  with  a  Memoir  of  Izaak 
Walton  by  Wm.  Dowling.  With 
numerous  Illustrations.  51. 

WELLINGTON,  Life  of.  By  *  An 
Old  Soldier.'  From  the  materials 
of  Maxwell.  With  Index  and  18 
Steel  Engravings.  51. 


WELLINGTON,  Victories  of. 
See  Maxwell. 

WERNER'S  Templars  in 
Cyprus.  Translated  by  E.  A.  M. 
Lewis.    3J.  dd* 

WESTROPP  (H.  M.)  A  Hand- 
book of  ArchsBology,  Egyptian, 
Greek,  Etruscan,  Roman.  Illus- 
trated. 5^. 

WHITE'S  Natural  History  of 
Selbome.  With  Notes  by  Sir 
William  Jardine.  Edited  by  Ed- 
ward Jesse.  With  40  Portraits 
and  coloured  Plates.  5^. 

WHE ATLEY'S  A  Rational  Illus- 
tration of  the  Book  of  Common 
Prayer.    3jr.  (>d, 

WHEELER'S  Noted  Names  ol 
Fiction,  Dictionary  of.  5^. 

WIESELER'S  Chronological 
Synopsis  of  the  Four  Gospels. 
Translated  by  the  Rev.  Canon 
Venables.    31.  ^d, 

WILLI  A^MofMALMESBURY'S 
Chronicle  of  the  Kings  of  Eng- 
land. Translated  by  the  Rev.  J. 
Sharpe.  Edited  by  J.  A.  Giles, 
D.C.L.  5^. 

XENOPHON'S  Works.  Trans- 
lated by  the  Rev.  J.  S.  Watson, 
M.A.,  and  the  Rev.  H.  Dale.  In 
3  vols.    5  J.  each. 

YOUNG  (Arthur).  Travels  in 
France  during  the  years  1787, 
1788,  and  1789.  Edited  by 
M.  Betham  Edwards.    3J.  6d. 

  Tour  in  Ireland,  with 

General  Observations  on  the  state 
of  the  country  during  the  years 
1776  -  79.  Edited  by  A.  W. 
Ilutton.  With  Complete  Biblio- 
graphy by  J.  P.  Anderson,  and 
Map.    2  vols.    3J.  dd,  each. 

YULE-TIDE  STOEIES.  A  Col- 
lection of  Scandinavian  and  North- 
German  Popular  Tales  and  Tra- 
ditions. Edited  by  B.  Thorpe.  Sf. 


THE  YORK  LIBRARY 

A  NEW  SERIES  OF  REPRINTS  ON  THIN  PAPER. 

With  specially  designed  title-pages^  bindings  and  endpmpers. 

Fcap.  8vo.  in  cloth,  2S.  net  ; 
In  leather,  3s.  net. 

*  The  York  Library  is  noticeable  by  reason  of  the  wisdom  and  intelli- 
gence displayed  in  the  choice  of  unhackneyed  classics.  ...  A  most 
attractive  series  of  reprints.  .  .  .  The  size  and  style  of  the  volumes  are 
exactly  what  they  should  be.' — Boohnan. 

The  following  volumes  are  now  ready  : 

CHARLOTTE  BRONTE'S  JANE  EYRE. 

BURNEY'S  EVELINA.  Edited,  with  an  Introduction  and 
Notes,  by  Annie  Raine  Ellis. 

BURNEY'S  CECILIA.   Edited  by  Annie  Raine  Ellis.  2  vols. 

BURTON'S  ANATOMY  OF  MELANCHOLY.  Edited  by  the 
Rev.  A.  R.  Shilleto,  M.A.,  with  Introduction  by  A.  H.  Bullen.  3  vols. 

BURTON'S  (SIR  RICHARD)  PILGRIMAGE  TO  AL- 
MADINAH  AND  MECCAH.  With  Introduction  by  Stanley  Lane- 
PooLE.    2  vols. 

CERVANTES'  DON  QUIXOTE.  Motteux's  Translation,  re- 
vised.   With  LOCKH art's  Life  and  Notes.    2  vols. 

CLASSIC  TALES  :  Johnson's  Rasselas,  Goldsmith's  Vicar 
OF  Wakefield,  Sterne's  Sentimental  Journey,  Walpole's 
Castle  of  Otranto.    With  Introduction  by  C.  S.  Fearenside,  M.A. 

COLERIDGE'S  AIDS  TO  REFLECTION,  and  the  Confessions 
of  an  Inquiring  Spirit. 

COLERIDGE'S  FRIEND.  A  series  of  Essays  on  Morals, 
Politics,  and  Religion. 

COLERIDGE'S  TABLE  TALK  AND  OMNIANA.  Arranged 
and  Edited  by  T.  Ashe,  B.A. 

COLERIDGE'S  LECTURES  AND  NOTES  ON  SHAKE- 
SPEARE,  and  other  English  Poets.    Edited  by  T.  Ashe,.  B.A. 

DRAPER'S.  HISTORY  OF  THE  INTELLECTUAL  DE- 
VELOPMENT OF  EUROPE.    2  vols. 

EBERS'  AN  EGYPTIAN  PRINCESS.  Translated  by  E.  S. 
Buchheim. 

GEORGE  ELIOT'S  ADAM  BEDE. 

EMERSON'S  WORKS.  A  new  edition  in  5  volumes,  with  the 
Text  edited  and  collated  by  George  Sampson. 

FIELDING'S  TOM  JONES  (2  vols.),  AMELIA  (i  voL\  JOSEPH 
ANDREWS  (i  vol.). 

GASKELUS  SYLVIA'S  LOVERS. 


The  York  LiBRARV—con^mued, 

GESTA  ROMANORUM,  or  Entertaining  Moral  Stones  in- 
vented by  the  Monks.  Translated  from  the  Latin  by  the  Rev.  Charles 
Swan.    Revised  edition,  by  Wynnard  Hooper,  M.A. 

GOETHE'S  FAUST.  Translated  by  Anna  Swanwick,  LL.D. 
Revised  edition,  with  an  Introduction  and  Bibliography  by  Karl  Breul, 
Litt.D..  Ph.D. 

GOETHE'S  POETRY  AND  TRUTH  FROM  MY  OWN  LIFE. 
Translated  by  M.  Steele-Smith,  with  Introduction  and  Bibliography  by 
Karl  Breul,  Litt.D. 

HAWTHORNE'S  TRANSFORMATION  (The  Marble  Faun). 

HOOPER'S  WATERLOO  :  THE  DOWNFALL  OF  THE 
FIRST  NAPOLEON.    With  Maps  and  Plans. 

IRVING'S  SKETCH  BOOK. 

IRVING'S  BRACEBRIDGE  HALL,  OR  THE  HUMOURISTS. 

JAMESON'S  SHAKESPEARE'S  HEROINES.  Characteris- 
tics of  Women  :  Moral,  Poetical,  and  Historical. 

LAMB'S  ESSAYS.  Including  the  Essays  of  Elia,  Last  Essays 
of  Elia,  and  Eliana. 

MARCUS  AURELIUS  ANTONINUS,  THE  THOUGHTS 
OF.  Translated  by  George  Long,  M.A.  With  an  Essay  on  Marcus 
Aurelius  by  MATTHEW  Arnold. 

MARRYAT'S  MR.  MIDSHIPMAN  EASY.  With  8  Illustra- 
trations.    i  vol.    PETER  SIMPLE.    With  8  Illustrations,    i  vol. 

MIGNET'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION, 

from  1789  to  1 8 14. 

MONTAIGNE'S  ESSAYS.  Cotton's  translation.  Revised  by 
W.  C.  Hazlitt.    3  vols. 

MOTLEY'S  RISE  OF  THE  DUTCH  REPUBLIC.  With  a 
Biographical  Introduction  by  Moncure  D.  Conway.    3  vols. 

PASCAL'S  THOUGHTS.  Translated  from  the  Text  of  M. 
Auguste  Molinier  by  C.  Kegan  Paul.    Third  edition. 

PLUTARCH'S  LIVES.  Translated,  with  Notes  and  a  Life  by 
Aubrey  Stewart,  M.A.,  and  George  Lx)NG,  M.A.   4  vols. 

RANKE'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  POPES,  during  the  Last  Four 
Centuries.    Mrs.  Foster's  translation.   Revised  by  G.  R.  Dennis.   3  vols. 

SWIFT'S  GULLIVER'S  TRAVELS.  Edited,  with  Introduction 
and  Notes,  by  G.  R.  Dennis,  with  facsimiles  of  the  original  illustrations. 

SWIFT'S  JOURNAL  TO  STELLA.  Edited,  with  Introduction 
and  Notes,  by  F,  Ryland,  M.A. 

TROLLOPE'S  BARSETSHIRE  NOVELS.— THE  WARDEN 
(i  vol.).  BARCHESTER  TOWERS  (i  vol.),  DR.  THORNE  (i  vol.), 
FRAMLEY  PARSONAGE  (i  vol),  SMALL  HOUSE  AT  ALLING- 
TON  (2  vols.),  LAST  CHRONICLE  OF  BARSET  (2  vols.). 

VOLTAIRE'S  ZADIG  AND  OTPIER  TALES.  Translated  by 
R.  Bruce  Boswell. 

ARTHUR  YOUNG'S  TRAVELS  IN  FRANCE,  during  the 
years  1787,  1788,  and  1789.  Edited  with  Introduction  and  Notes,  by  M. 
Betham  Edwards. 

0//ier  Volumes  are  in  Preparation, 


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CARLO  CRIVELLI.     By  G.  McNeil  Rushforth,  M.A. 
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ANDREA  DEL  SARTO.    By  H.  Guinness.    2nd  Edition. 
DONATELLO.    By  Hope  Rea.    2nd  Edition. 
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GAUDENZIO  FERRARL    By  Ethel  Halsey. 
FRANCIA.    By  George  C.  Williamson,  Litt.D. 
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BERNARDINO  LUINI.  By  George  C.  Williamson,  Litt.D.  3rd  Edition. 
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CHISWICK  SHAKESPEARE 

Illustrated  by  BYAM  SHAW. 
With  Introductions  and  Glossaries  by  JOHN  DENNIS. 


Printed  at  the  Chiswick  Press,  pott  8vo.,  price  \s.  6d,  net  per  volume ; 
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AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 

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CORIOLANUS. 

CYMBELINE. 

HAMLET. 

JULIUS  CESAR. 

KING  HENRY  IV.    Part  I. 

KING  HENRY  IV.    Part  II. 

KING  HENRY  V. 

KING  HENRY  VI.    Part  I. 

KING  HENRY  VI.    Part  II. 

KING  HENRY  VL    Part  HI. 

KING  HENRY  VIII. 

KING  JOHN. 

KING  LEAR. 

KING  RICPIARD  II. 

KING  RICHARD  III. 


MACBETH. 

MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 
MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 
MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 
MIDSUMMER-NIGHTS  DREAM. 
MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 
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PERICLES. 

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TIMON  OF  ATPIENS. 

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TROILUS  AND  CRESSIDA. 

TWELFTH  NIGHT. 

TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA. 

WINTER'S  TALE. 

POEMS. 

SONNETS. 


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B.A.  2  vols. 

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Thomas. 

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Goldsmith.  Revised  Edition  by 
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Gray.  Edited  by  J.  Bradshaw, 
LL.D. 

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Edited  by  Ven.  Archdeacon  Hannah, 
D.C.L. 

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Scott.  Edited  by  John  Dennis. 
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Young.  2  vols.  Edited  by,  the 
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WEBSTER'S 
INTERNATIONAL 
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NEW  EDITION,  REVISED  THROUGHOUT  WITH  A 
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